


warm water

by nomind



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beth Boland Gets Around, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Lack of Communication, Love Confessions, Mentioned Infidelity, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Smut, Vaginal Sex, communication? idk her, sweatpants dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomind/pseuds/nomind
Summary: “No way you think you know her best. I mean I know y’all are tight, butshit, I live with this woman. I know her inside out. I know all her dirty little secrets.”Beth gawks at that. “What dirty little secrets?”“Fine, let’s do this,” Annie says, ignoring Beth’s outrage to sit up straight. “Twenty questions. Winner gets to make the profile and find her a date.”Rio’s eyes gleam at that, and he immediately moves to shake Annie’s hand.y'all ready for a fluffy roommates!AU in which 29 y/o beth's favorite coping mechanism is casual sex w/ strangers and rio is too invested in his protein source of choice that accidentally grew into... over 40k of brio angst? bc im not
Relationships: Beth Boland/Original Character(s), Beth Boland/Rio, Rio (Good Girls)/Original Character(s), Ruby Hill/Stan Hill
Comments: 599
Kudos: 851





	1. (i.) WARM WATER

_i think i may love you / if you give me some time / maybe you’ll love me too_ (BANKS – Warm Water)

The weight of it’s-only- _Wednesday _is settled deep in Beth’s shoulders as she steps into the apartment, locking the door behind her and toeing out of her shoes, only to kick them next to Rio’s without a look. The apartment glows with blues and greys -- the obnoxious abstract lamp Annie got them as a housewarming gift a bright blue, the long curtains a pale grey, the walls a very toned-down baby-blue, a result of twenty minutes of arguing inside the store while onlookers watched and Rio’s vendetta against eggshell. The cool tones are warmed by Rio, sitting with his legs crossed, feet tucked under him on the couch, stretching over the arm to turn on another light as she restlessly shakes off her coat. She watches him pull on the thin, faux-golden cord of what he insists is a reading lamp, never mind that she hasn’t seen this man so much as _touch_ a book in a good few months, his skin showing where his shirt rides up as he stretches. __

__She sighs a “hi” his way as her socked feet make their way to the couch, only to let herself crash down on it next to him._ _

__“Anton?”_ _

__“Anton,” she confirms, groaning loudly, closing her eyes at the thought of her tirelessly persistent manager. Rio reaches out a hand to squeeze her right knee twice, returning his focus to the phone resting on his right thigh. She lets herself feel his light touches for a minute, willing herself to let the day wash away, but her mind is thrumming hard._ _

__Her heart leaks around him. She didn’t notice at first, the sound of it dripping not registering with her, not until her socked feet got wet in the puddle she created. But lately her feet are always soaking wet and she tracks it with her everywhere she goes, leaving wet footprints behind._ _

__It’s Ruby, it’s always Ruby, who noticed it first. She told her three weeks into them living together to reconsider their housing situation, telling her it was written all over her face, the way it lights around him like nothing else does._ _

__Beth had let the weight of her best friend’s words dampen her enthusiasm at getting to _live_ with him a little bit, recognizing the truth in it and the layer of protectiveness that they always aim at each other. But she’d told Ruby and herself that having him in any capacity was an honor, something she was unwilling to let go of, and God, she’d been so possessive over her friendship with him, wanting to bathe in his fondness of her for days._ _

__And it _does_ feel like an honor, having him like this, knowing what he’s like before coffee, exhausted and cranky with the way their upstairs neighbors kept him awake with their seemingly unprompted mid-week rangers. But it’s an honor that’s breaking her a little, wearing her like water, easy and kind, but chipping away at her as time passes nonetheless._ _

__It is such a languid heartbreak, dragged out over weeks, months, years. One swirled into every interaction, the potential of them always teetering her one side of the scale, so she could let herself fall face-first into hope, instead of safety. But breaking her own heart little by little, through all the fantasizing, overanalyzing, and wishful thinking she’s doing, is better than the alternative of not being around him, she decided long ago -- maybe the first time she saw his eyes crinkle at the sight of her. The spark in his eyes was worthy of her heart being a little bruised, a little battered, surely._ _

__Besides, they’ve past the two-year mark of living together and somehow she is still afloat. Maybe it’s the puddle that grew into a steady sea that’s carrying her body, but she’s still breathing. Maybe the years made her develop gills, maybe she’s drowning but she can’t see it, but she doesn’t mind. Let her be buried at sea, she thinks, tracing the dimple in his chin with her eyes like it’s there for her. Like he’s only hers, no one else’s._ _

__She sits up straight, shaking herself out of the water, and hears him chuckle. They’ve been in this position many times -- him lazing down on the couch they bought of his cousin who moved three states over to shack up with her boyfriend, her frantically walking in circles in front of him._ _

__“I wanna quit. I should quit. I hate this job.” Beth starts pacing in front of the TV that’s delicately balancing on the shelf Rio built that’s definitely not as steady as he proclaimed proudly after making it while he was “feelin’ crafty”, four shots deep on tequila night._ _

__“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before, Elizabeth,” he says, eyes still glued to his phone screen._ _

__“Wow, okay. Thanks for the support, roomie,” she replies with a scoff. “You know what Madison told me today? Apparently Anton’s been thinking about opening earlier on Sundays? There goes my only chance for peace and quiet.” She scowls at the prospect._ _

__“Peace and quiet? That what we’re calling your little hungover brunches with Annie and Ruby these days?” She meets his eyes -- his gleaming with amusement, hers decidedly pissed off. Before she can open her mouth to scold him, he continues with a “damn, what I wouldn’t give for a little quiet on my Sunday mornings so I could do my work-outs in peace. You know what, maybe this is not the worst thing Anton’s ever suggested,” making Beth roll her eyes._ _

__“Sure, like your work-outs would last half as long without Annie’s lewd commentary. Are you sure you wanna lose your free motivational coach?” She gets a full-bodied laugh for that, unable to keep the corners of her mouth from lifting, thinking about the questionable material Annie’s given them over the years, getting more creative with each catcall she throws Rio’s way anytime he’s knee-deep in a lunge or a jumping jack or whatever._ _

__He stands up. “Nah, sweetheart, you’re right, can’t leave my loyal fanbase without a view, now, can I?” Making his way toward her, he flashes her a grin and wiggles his eyebrows. “You’re so full of yourself,” is her clever retort, but she says it with a chuckle. This man is a clown and she _knows_ he gets a kick out of having the three of them as an audience._ _

__Rio wraps an arm around her shoulders, tugging her towards the kitchen. “Come on, I left you some lasagna, out of the goodness of my own heart.” He mockingly places a hand on his chest._ _

__“You mean the lasagna I made?” He pushes her onto a chair, right before she starts getting up again._ _

__“Nuh-uh, sit your ass down. You’ve been on your feet enough for today.”_ _

__She surrenders with a “fine, but only because I’m mourning the loss of my Sunday morning ritual.” He smiles at her for that. She folds his smile in her pocket, for later. Something to chew on as she sinks a little deeper. Yeah._ _


	2. (ii.) KNOWN TO ME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which these two share their morning ritual. and their post-drinking ritual.

_make your good love known to me / just tell me about your day_ (HOZIER – As It Was) 

Rio breathes loudly through his nose, frowning at the newspaper that’s lying on the kitchen island, tapping the cheap plastic pen against his cheek with its blue cap. He then aggressively scribbles something on the crossword, only to cross it out again a moment later.

Beth shakes her head, amused. “What’s wrong? I haven’t seen you this frustrated since they stopped selling your favorite brand of skyr at Fine ‘n Frugal.”

He lifts his head and gives her a dark look. “That is a loss I still haven’t fully processed, so please don’t throw that in my face.” She smiles at that. 

He amuses her so much sometimes, with his dramatic flair. Might’ve been one of the first things that drew her in, pulling at her like the incessant call of sunrise announcing a new day. It was the thing that stuck out about him the most, besides maybe the cut of his jaw, the dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes he struts in, the intensity of his gaze that has made her wanna drink from it since day dot.

“Only you would be so heartbroken over losing a pretentious dairy product.”

“Yeah, cuz now I gotta go to the one on fifth to get some decent source of protein. On _fifth_ , Elizabeth. Do you know how much time it takes to get there with all that traffic?” His eyes are comically large, and she cracks up.

“You’re so dramatic. I’m sure you’ll survive without it if you hate the traffic so much, you little snob.” He lifts a brow at that.

“Me, a snob? Didn’t you _just_ rope me into pitching in for a record player?”

“You know everything sounds better on vinyl!” He laughs. “Tell yourself whatever you like, sweetheart. _You’re_ a snob.”

“Well, so are you,” she shoots back, a little prickly. He sends her a cocky grin. “Perhaps. At least I’m good at being a snob. Meanwhile, you’re about to only use that damn thing once in a blue moon and playing music from your phone the rest of the time, because we both know that’s actually more convenient.”

“Are you seriously arguing with me about being a better snob? God, you are just insufferably cocky.” He gets up and approaches her quickly, tilting his head with a flash of teeth. Her heartbeat takes on the fast, erratic pattern of their upstairs neighbor tapdancing on Monday nights.

“Yeah, but you love it.” She scoffs. “You love me,” he adds, smirk still on his face. She laughs, maybe a little too honestly. If only he knew. If only he knew how much her heart tugs at the sight of him, how much her lungs just wanna take _him_ in, much more so than oxygen. She’d swallow him whole if she could.

“If you say so, Rio.” “Oh, I say so. See, I can tell from the way you never manage to suppress that smile when you insult me.”

She rests her baby blues on his dark eyes, the ones that make her float and spin and shake inside, and blinks up at him. 

“That’s what you think love is?” she asks coyly, taking a step closer. A look filters over his face she can’t register -- maybe it’s surprise, given that he’s usually the one encroaching on her personal space, not the other way around, maybe it’s something else, but before she can analyze it further he twists his hands and gives her a mock punch to her shoulder, with a “yup,” letting the “p” pop and pushing her away a little.

“In that case, you must love me whole lot,” she jokes, curious at the movement of his hands, which are now playfully landing soft punches on her upper arm and shoulder, not meeting her eyes. All she gets is a “mm-mm” and the slow, lazy rhythm of his fists on her, like he’s deep in thought.

“Okay then,” she says after a silence, chuckling at his antics. “Are you done, Rocky? I have a non-pretentious breakfast to eat before work and I really don’t want to be late and give Anton any more fuel.” She steps aside and he drops his arms, relaxing his fists and clenching them again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I gotta finish my crossword,” he mutters to himself, walking back to the kitchen island -- but she doesn’t see him put the pen to paper for the entirety of her making breakfast and shuffling toast into her mouth in haste.

That night she’s mostly forgotten about their early morning conversation, except that she hasn’t. The way his voice sounded when he told her she loves him has been looping in her brain all day. It goes in circles, “You love me,” flush with his amusement and his fondness of her, until it layers, stumbles, shifts into something else, something deeper, and it doesn’t take much before the loop becomes “I love you”. She’s heady with it, almost drunk, because it’s too easy to slip into those words. Too easy to find delusional comfort in them.

It’s that undeserved high that has her about as drunk as the tequila she’s had, leaving her loudly stumbling into the store with him at two in the morning, bodies bumping into each other a little in their eagerness, their noise and energy a clear contrast to their earlier sleepy banter. 

Sitting on the floor of their apartment after the amount of drinks they had it had seemed essential to do a grocery store run. For ice cream. And more alcohol. They were out of eggs, too, and she’d promised Rio French toast in the morning to cure their inevitable hangovers, his face flushed and smile so bright at the prospect she couldn’t think of any reason not go to their local 24/7 shop. Besides, they were both feeling Jake Peralta levels of snacky and they’d finished eating the nachos he’d made hours ago.

Under the fluorescent lights of the store the giddiness in his eyes is even harder to miss, so she lets him drag her from isle to isle, grabbing anything he think looks good on the way over. She’s giggling in his ear, trying to lecture him on fiscally responsible decision-making while making sure she doesn’t trip. Her body is a little uncooperative after the you-love-me and its twin thrumming in her mind and the many shots she had trying to keep up with him, since she refuses to let a twenty-five-year-old outdrink her, knowing full well if she didn’t she’d have to suffer through his jokes about her age for weeks. He’s having none of it, though, one hand on her waist pushing her towards the ice cream, lighting up her insides in the process, the other still yanking food from the shelves left and right.

“Come on, darlin’. Live a little.” His voice is hoarse, breath hot in her neck, and she gives in, chucking not one, not two, but three different tubs of ice cream in the basket he’s carrying, earning her a grin.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” 

He looks so happy it makes her laugh, a little too loudly, maybe, as they’re making their way to the register, where a tall, tired-looking guy is standing, staring off into the distance until they enter his view. Rio almost drops the basket in his carelessly languid post-tequila movements -- something that has her squeezing his side instead of helping him, trying to keep upright as she bursts into giggles.

Their cashier, lanky and deliciously gruffy, starts scanning all their midnight cravings, when Rio suddenly swoops around and looks at her with big eyes.

“We forgot the eggs,” he whisper-yells, clearly still hung up on the breakfast she promised. “I’ll be right back.”

And he’s gone, with a final squeeze to her shoulders, leaving her to watch him walk away with that cheerful, I’m-not- _that_ -drunk swagger of his.

She hears a chuckle behind her. “You guys are cute, doing groceries together and everything. Your boyfriend seems very invested.” She whips around to look at the guy, not really registering what he’s saying. She’s a little distracted by the golden hue of his eyes. He quirks a lip, eyes dragging over her body, taking in her yoga pants and purple top she’d changed into after she got home from work and Rio had announced a spontaneous tequila night. She’s pretty sure the top still has some spaghetti stains from Annie’s latest attempt at making dinner. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” leaves her mouth before she fully realizes it. The guy -- Jasper, according to the nametag that’s dangling from his shirt -- gives her an interested look at that.

“Does he know that?” She follows his eyes, watching Rio triumphantly swoop into view again, this time with a carton of eggs in his hand. “He looks at you like a lost puppy. Follows you like one, too.” _What?_ This guy is delusional. Sure, maybe Rio gets a little more generous with his touches when he’s had a few, sending her big eyes and showing no appreciation for the concept of personal space anytime they do shots, but a lost puppy? Not Rio.

“Have you been watching me?” Jasper smirks. “Us, I mean,” she hastily adds.

Rio steps up behind her, reaching around her to place the eggs on the counter, curling a hand around her waist unthinkingly in the process.

“Eggs!” he exclaims happily, and she smiles a little at the goofy grin on his face. He’s adorable. Especially when he gets all grumpy about being called adorable like he did no less than two hours ago, muttering about his throat tattoo like that means anything to a person who’s seen him talk to himself and rub the early morning out of his eyes doing his crossword puzzles.

Jasper scans the eggs, telling them their total is $39,84 in a pointed tone, making them burst out of their bubble of staring at each other while grinning like lunatics, the way they often do when they’ve been drinking. As Rio moves to grab his wallet, wisely assessing that she is not gonna sponsor his ridiculous cravings, she meets Jasper’s eyes when he starts to speak.

“To answer your question, yes, I have. And I’m totally right, by the way. Don’t know how you don’t see it. But just in case I’m wrong or you don’t care, I’m gonna give you my number.” Beth’s eyes bug out at that, while Rio freezes. 

His movements are a little tense once he defrosts, and he finishes paying quietly. They both watch in silence as Jasper scribbles something onto their receipt, handing it to her with a chuckle.

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” he says, as she stares at him, taking the receipt from him, still uncertain of what’s happening right now. She sees Rio’s frown in the corner of her eyes, watches him zero in on the receipt in her hand. 

“Goodnight,” she responds slowly, turning around to leave the store. Her brain’s too drunk to process these things, she just wants to go home with Rio and eat mint chocolate ice cream and drink some bourbon or tequila while he tells another work story or talks her into playing Mario Kart with him, even though they both know they'll end up fighting when he’ll inevitably try to play dirty. 

Rio trails behind her, but gone is the sluggish, joyful pace, leaving an uncharacteristic stiffness.

“Like a goddamn puppy,” is the last thing she hears from behind the register, as the doors swing closed behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i know how streets work in the US? no. do i know if skyr is a thing over there? also no. am i gonna look up either of those things? tragically, also no.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @ inyoursheets in case you wanna yell about brio w/ me. can confirm the next update will take, like, a normal amount of time, instead of the absolute clownery that was this rate.


	3. (iii.) GO AHEAD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which somebody gets his nose pierced, stan’s chili makes an appearance, and somebody else steals a t-shirt.

_there’s a heart i cannot hide / go ahead, go ahead / love me deep until you can't_ (LYKKE LI – Love Me Like I’m Not Made of Stone) 

She’s right in the middle of putting the eggplant in the oven when the door opens and closes, followed by Rio casually stalking into the kitchen.

“Yo.” She’s crouched down near the oven, using a tattered, blue kitchen cloth to take the roster out and lower it. “Yo,” she replies, her eyes focused on the task at hand. 

Rising to her feet and closing the over door, she turns around, surprised by the sight that greets her. Rio, leaning semi-casually against the wall, his nose now featuring a little diamond stud. So she swallows. And swallows again. Shit, that’s. Yeah. That’s interesting. But he’s looking at her so expectedly, that she can’t help but school her features into something blank, raising a brow, ready to toy with him a little.

“So, how was work?” Her voice is cheery. She hopes the mirth in it isn’t too obvious. He smiles a little.

“Work was fine. Got a couple new clients the next few weeks so that’s good.” She hums in agreement. They stare at each other, silently. It’s a silence filled with noise -- the hum of the fridge, the sound of the oven working, their upstairs neighbor playing bass-guitar, the sounds of the street below them flowing inside from the window that’s cracked open in the living room, and vaguely, a conversations being held out in the hall.

Then Beth turns around before the smile that’s gliding onto her face cracks open, busying herself by washing the cutting board she just used. Behind her, Rio scoffs. She can hear him move in closer, the heat of his breath on her neck.

“So we’re gonna play it like that, huh?” She smirks, rinsing the soap from the board, happy he can’t see her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She feels his arm grip hers from behind, and he’s caging her in a little. His voice turns low. “Come on, darlin’.” 

She puts the cutting board in the dryer rack and spins around, letting her eyes track over his face slowly, lingering on the piercing, then meeting his eyes.

She smiles. “What? Were you expecting something?” 

He sighs.

“Damn, how do I put up with you?” 

“You know how you put up with me. Same way I put up with you, babyboy. You just gotta power through my hilarious jokes. Life is full of hardship.” She can’t contain the full-blown smile then, still looking up at him.

He shakes his head, finally giving in, smiling with her. “Damn, you’re somethin’ else.” She hums in agreement.

“Just ask me,” she adds after a pause.

“Fine. But only because you insist on making this unnecessarily hard and awkward on the both of us.” She grins at that.

He bows his head a little, leaning in closer. “So, what do you think? Think it looks good?”

Satisfied her ploy worked, she moves her head calculatingly, looking at his nose from all angles, earning her a dry chuckle. Then she meets his eyes.

“Yes.” 

He looks at her so unbelievingly at the silence that follows, that she bursts into giggles, letting her head bump into his shoulder. 

“You’re so fun to mess with. God, you make it too easy sometimes, you know that?” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he replies, voice humorless.

Beth stands up straight. “You look great. Piercing looks great. You’ll be fighting off all the alternative ladies. What made you get it?”

He raises an eyebrow at the alternative comment, but doesn’t mention it. “Dunno, thought it’d look good.”

“Well, it does.”

“Glad you think so. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it,” he asks. She smiles at him. “It’s more fun this way. Now move over and let me finish making dinner.”

After dinner, somebody barges into the door with a “six more minutes, we ready?” 

Stan appears with his hands full of Tupperware containers, in familiar fashion. “I brought chili.” Beth chuckles fondly at the sight of their next-door neighbor and his penchant for stress-cooking enough to feed the whole building whenever his job starts eating at him.

“Stanley, you must stop spoiling us,” she sing-songs, taking the containers from him with a grateful smile. “We don’t deserve you.” 

She rubs his shoulder in passing, about to ask him about work, when Rio appears. “My man! Come on, game’s about to start. And right quick, too.”

He pats Stan on the back and tugs on Beth’s arm once she’s put the chili in the fridge, dragging her to the living room.

“Hey, I wasn’t done cleaning!” she protests, but it comes out all weak, since she’s actually not that committed to having clean dishes. Especially knowing what’s about to happen, her heart fluttering embarrassingly.

“Forget about all that, darlin’. You got bigger things to worry about now.” He more or less forces her to join them on the couch, never mind that it’s more of a two-person couch and Stan’s already on it. He pulls her close, practically manhandling her into his lap the way he does every time they watch the game together. She’d protest more if it didn’t feel so nice to get enveloped by his arms, even for a little bit. 

“You want a beer?” It’s murmured in her ear, since Stan was way off with his six minutes -- the game’s already started, the sound’s up, leaving Rio’s face close to hers while Stan’s eyes are glued to the tv. She swallows.

“I’m good.” Her voice is a little squeaky, but she hopes he’ll be too distracted by the sweaty athleticism displayed on screen to notice. It’s his closeness, his warm body underneath hers and the scratch of his beard on her cheek when he leans in, focusing on the players, that leave her giddy and gooey every time they do this. 

She floats the rest of the night, willing herself to hide it to the best of her ability. There’s no quirk to Stan’s eyebrow at their antics, their neighbor so used to their behavior he doesn’t comment on it the way Annie or Ruby would. And Rio -- he's the one pulling her in his lap. Still, she just hopes he doesn’t see how much effort its takes her to keep her heart from lurching, her feet on the floorboards they picked out together, her lungs filled with anything but what ifs.

The next morning Beth struts into the kitchen in her panties and a faded softball t-shirt she stole from Rio’s closet, triumphant to discover just how soft it is. She loves it, despite the yellow of the shirt paling, resembling the color of baby puke more and more with each laundry cycle, or the fact that the blue letters on the shirt are cracked all over. The color completely washes her out, but it’s too comfortable for her to care, so she lets herself sink into it fully, and it’s _just_ long enough for her to talk herself out of feeling embarrassed wearing it around Rio. As long as she doesn’t bend down, he won’t be able to tell the thong she’s wearing is blue, she reasons.

He’s already in the kitchen, fiddling with the coffeemaker, turning around when he hears her come in. His mouth opens, presumably about to wish her good morning, ask how she slept or scold her for claiming his old softball tee as hers now, but he makes no sound. 

So she wishes him good morning since he’s just standing there doing nothing, and walks up next to him, reaching for the cupboard behind his head. “Move over, dummy,” she tells him, getting up on her toes to reach for a bowl.

“I’m feeling cereal this morning,” she tells him while moving around, getting a vague hum in response. She busies herself getting the box of cereal from the shelf next to him, then the milk from the fridge, shutting the fridge door with her hip, bringing all the stuff to the kitchen island. She doesn’t really register he’s not moving until she’s in front of him again, in need of a spoon from the drawer behind him.

“Sorry, can I just --” she trails off, blinking up at him. He meets her eyes, nodding yes, but his body is unmoving. And he’s _staring_ at her, like she’s one of his crossword puzzles or like he wants her to _get_ something she’s not getting.

“You’re gonna actually have to move, Rio.” The words leave her mouth a lot softer than she intended, but he’s acting so strange that apparently her brain is ready to treat him like a dainty baby deer. The analogy fits, he’s got the eyes for it. He swallows, looking down at her, his body trapped in the corner of the kitchen where the counters meet and the coffeemaker sits abandoned, and she’s watching him, noticing his throat bob, taking in the red of his ears.

Beth shivers, the cold wind coming from the window that’s cracked open in the living room suddenly strong enough for her to feel her nipples pebble and get goosebumps all over. He clears his throat. 

“Cold?” It’s the first thing that’s come out of his mouth and it barely counts, but she’s happy to finally get a word out of him. 

“I’m okay. I kinda like some fresh air in the morning,” she responds, shrugging a little. The window’s always open -- it doesn’t even shut properly. She takes a step back so he’ll catch her drift and move out of the way, when she notices his eyes move to her puffy nipples and shoot up again, quick like a puck being bounced back and forth between them in one of their competitive air hockey games at Lucky’s, one where they’re both hunched over the table and hurling insults at the other person. 

He clears his throat again, moving out the way without a word, only to stand behind her, a hand scratching his ear. She quickly grabs a spoon and makes her way over to the rest of her breakfast, patting his shoulder in the process, hoping he registers the baby deer version of her usual “calm down, buddy” for what it is.

Rio remains uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the morning, and to her surprise he doesn’t give her any shit for stealing his clothes. Nor does he touch the newspaper that’s on the island, ready for him. So she worries.

And keeps worrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry for talking about the game like it's SNL’s Totinos skit. anyways how are we doing folks?


	4. (iv.) TASTE MY MOUTH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which everybody's favorite sister decides she'll find somebody her perfect match and somebody's roommate feels like he'd do a better job at that.

_oh you're in my veins / and i cannot get you out / oh you're all i taste / at night inside of my mouth_ (ANDREW BELLE – In My Veins)

It’s Annie, of course it’s Annie, who suggests she should use a dating app, apparently fed up of seeing her sister break her own heart. Beth erupts into giggles at the suggestion.

“And do what? Find some overly confident techie to fuck me in his unfurnished apartment? No thank you,” she snorts. Annie rolls her eyes at that, moving her hand to point at her with a wild gesture, only to spill tequila over her crotch.

“No, not to fuck, to _date_ some overly confident techie with an unfurnished apartment. Or you know, someone _with_ furniture.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Me and Ruby have decided you should try dating.” Annie delivers the words confidently, like they’ve been sitting in her brain for a while now, mulled over, definitive. But the thought is ridiculous, and surely her little sister and her best friend must know that.

She’s been tensing up at the suggestion of dating for years now, in part thanks to her ex-boyfriend and the magnitude of feelings she has for her roommate, ready to burst at any given moment. Her thoughts flicker to Rio, the way they always do -- just the hint of him, anywhere, anyway, is enough to have her mind wrap around him.

But he’s been distant lately, all quiet like he was the other morning, so as stubbornly as her thoughts cling to him, so do the worries cling to her. It’s throwing her off, especially the physical distance he seems to prefer now, so debilitatingly unlike him. His muted movements have made her more timid, insecure. She tries not to let the edge to his demeanor stain her.

“You know I’m not ready for that.” Her voice is small. 

Annie’s eyes are on her, kind and understanding, while hers flutter to the floor. They let her words sit in the silence, her throat bobbing in discomfort, but she’s grateful nonetheless for all the things Annie doesn’t make her say.

“Well, I’m ready for you to be ready, so,” Annie jokes after a beat. “You know what, I’ll make it easy for you. Give me your phone,” she demands, her mind clearly geared towards distraction, a skill she mastered early on in life.

They bicker for a while as they drink some more, not talking about what they both know to be true. The relief at the lightened mood sighing through her bones, her voice, and not for the first time does she realize how much she loves her little sister. But Beth remains silently convinced nothing good would come of her suggestion, not with how hung up she is on somebody. Some guy. Some dude she’s trying really hard not to think about right now. Wait how many shots did she take? But Annie fumbles her phone from her anyway, ignoring her very valid and not at all slurred protests.

“Hey, ladies. What are you up to?” Rio crashes onto the couch, appearing out of nowhere, only to lean forward and put the shot glass on the coffee table to his mouth, quickly knocking it back.

“Hey, that was mine! Not cool dude!” Annie sends him a filthy look, but breaks into a smile at his answering wink. Rio’s got a soft spot about as big as Annie’s obsession with him, so they’re never able to even _pretend_ to be mad at each other.

“So, what are we doing?” He refills the glass, takes the shot, then fills it again and pushes it towards the end of the table, close to where Annie’s draped across the floor, one of her legs still on the couch.

“I am making a dating profile for my dear sister while she is… I don’t know what she is doing. She is in denial about the whole situation,” she responds from her spot on the floor, furiously typing on Beth’s phone.

“I am _not_ in denial, I just don’t need to be on a dating app.” Rio’s chuckling while Beth rolls her eyes at Annie, masking how glad she is to have him here, warmer than before. “There’s no point putting all this effort into making a profile I’ll delete as soon as you leave.” 

“Well, maybe you don’t want to be on a dating app, but I still want to swipe for you. I’ll get you your perfect match, trust me,” Annie fires back. At the noise Beth makes, she adds “chill, I got you, sis! Don’t worry, I know you better than anyone. I _will_ find you your man.”

Rio snorts. “You’re funny.” 

“Why, thank you, Rio. I know, though, so no need for all that.” She gives a patronizing pat to his leg to match her words as he shakes his head.

“No way you think you know her best. I mean I know y’all are tight, but _shit_ , I live with this woman. I know her inside out. I know all her dirty little secrets.”

Beth gawks at that. “What dirty little secrets?” 

“Fine, let’s do this,” Annie says, ignoring Beth’s outrage to sit up straight. “Twenty questions. Winner gets to make the profile and find her a date.”

Rio’s eyes gleam at that, and he immediately moves to shake Annie’s hand. 

Beth chokes on her own tongue. “You _cannot_ be serious! I don’t even want this profile!” Annie holds up a finger.

“Hush, babygirl. It’s already happening.” Beth throws her hands up. “Fine, whatever.” Then she gets up from the couch, only to be met with an incredulous “wait, where are you going? We need you here to verify!”

She tilts her head. “Ruby can verify, because _Ruby_ knows me best. So text her.” She smiles at the “rude” that leaves under Annie’s breath. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go get more booze. I’ll be right back.”

Beth returns with a bottle of bourbon and sits on the ottoman. Folding her hands in her lap with a sigh, she turns to Annie and Rio. 

“Let’s get this over with.” 

Rio sends her a smile, moving to the edge of his seat. Annie takes a shot, knocking it down with force.

“Color of her vibrator. Go,” Annie starts, and Beth guffaws. She contemplates stealing her phone back from Annie to google the cleanest way to kill somebody so she can _murder_ her, because she’s convinced her life cannot get any more mortifying than this very moment. 

Until Rio smirks confidently, and she wants to stop this, wants to stop _him_ , wants out of this conversation, but --

“Pink.” 

Beth makes a noise she’s sure she’s never made before, eyes bugging out. “How do either of you even know that?”

“You _know_ I’m nosy and have no attention span! I go through your drawers when you shower too long and I’m bored.” “ _You_ made me go through your nightstand the other day to get you your ibuprofen!” She sighs.

“Fine, okay. Weirdos,” she mutters. Annie rubs her hands together, looking way too invested. She makes a movement with her left hand Beth doesn’t catch.

“Hit me.”

Rio purses his lips, moving his eyes to Beth. After a few moments of consideration, he opens his mouth.

“Go-to comfort food.”

Annie scoffs. “Please. Mac ‘n cheese.” Rio raises a brow. “Nuh-uh. My nachos.” His voice is low, close to a purr. It melts her little, settles in her skin. Annie frowns, throwing her hands up in frustration and turning to Beth.

“Beth, please tell this man he is sadly mistaken.” 

She bites her lip. “He’s right, actually.” Annie makes a noise, eyes widened. “What? They’re really good,” she adds, by way of explanation. They _are_ really good. But so is mac ‘n cheese. The fact that Rio makes them specifically to cheer her up may or may not have swayed her opinion a little bit.

The smirk on his face is loud. “That’s two for me, one for you, Marks.” 

“Fine. You get this one. But you better make me some of those nachos. I have to know what’s so great about them. Now, favorite outfit. Go.” Rio turns to Beth with a meaningful look, so she raises her brows at him in question.

“That old baseball tee she think I ain’t notice she stole from me.” She feels her face flush at that, thinking of how it’s currently stationed underneath her pillow. She sits up straight. “You didn’t say anything.”

As a matter of fact, he barely said a word at all that morning.

“Yeah, kinda like it on you, darlin’.” Beth’s throat bobs as Annie rolls her eyes. “Whatever, stop flirting with my sister, _darling_. That’s not her favorite outfit.” 

“Yeah it is, she wears it all the time. Hence, favorite.”

“ _No_ , her favorite outfit is that burgundy polka dot dress which she should totally wear to her first date with whoever I pick for her because _I’m_ gonna win this.”

They keep bickering, but Beth puts an end to it by giving the point to Annie, because she said outfit, and a t-shirt is hardly an outfit. But the look on Rio’s face tells her he wholeheartedly disagrees and they both know which loss she would mourn sooner should both items of clothing disappear from her wardrobe.

They go back and forth a for a while, fortunately no longer mentioning her sex toys or stolen goods, and not to her surprise, they both know all the answers -- something that obviously frustrates them both.

Suddenly Annie sits up. “What’s her tattoo?” Beth groans, knowing how this is gonna end. Annie mistakes her noise for a victory on her end, thinking Rio won’t know. Like he doesn’t see her in nothing but a tee and panties on the daily, with how much she’s been wearing his shirt lately.

Rio leans forward, very much unable to hide his glee like the dork he is, jutting out his bottom lip. He takes Annie in, and then, as Beth closer her eyes.

“Which one?” 

It’s silent for a moment, until Annie lets out a screech. “What!” She’s yelling, getting up on both feet, sending Beth an incredulous look. “When did you get another tattoo?”

She cowers a little. “Three months ago.” Her shriek is louder this time. “What? You hid this from me for three whole months? Why?”

“Because it’s not a big deal! It’s nothing. It’s… my body,” she trails off, hating how weak she sounds. Rio looks a bit apologetic at Annie’s reaction.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Show me!” Annie’s scanning her body up and down like she can spot it, like she’s simply missed it all this time.

Beth sighs, slowly pushing down her jeans to reveal the modest peony that now graces her only previously unmarked thigh. Annie raises her brows, moving in closer.

“How did this happen?” She immediately moves a finger to trace the ink on her skin without asking. “It’s red,” she murmurs to herself, seemingly surprised.

Beth moves her eyes to Rio. “It just sorta… happened? I came with Rio when he got his newest and -- well,” trying to recap that day. Rio smirks.

“Yeah, your sister got a little too into it, asking questions about different color ink and whatnot, so I dared her,” he supplies when Annie looks at him for clarification.

“You dared her?” Annie’s frown is deep. “You got a tattoo because Rio dared you?” she asks, judgement dripping from her lowered voice, turning back to Beth, who laughs and gets up to join Rio on the couch, yanking her jeans back in place in the process, moving her feet beneath her.

“He’s joking.” She pushes his shoulder, shaking her head at him. He laughs at her. “Relax, darlin’. She knows not to take me too seriously at this point. Ain’t that right, champ?” 

Annie sends him a dark look. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” He looks very unbothered by that statement. 

Annie sighs. “Fine, I guess you get the point. Ugh.”

Beth scratches at her neck. “Okay, I’m sorry, I fail to see how any of these questions are relevant to making a dating profile. Not that I want either of you to actually go through with that, but still.”

“Okay, fine. Ideal date.” 

“It’s my turn,” Rio interjects. Annie waves him off. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just saying that because you know I’ll win this one.”

His grin is feral. “Okay, then. You go first. I’d like to hear your thoughts before I absolutely destroy you.” 

“Last question,” Beth adds, desperate to end their competition. 

“Fine. Beth’s ideal date would just be classic dinner and a movie because we all know she’s kind of a foodie and a secret romantic. Bonus points for watching the sunset. She loves that shit.”

Beth hums noncommittedly at Annie’s answer, her shoulders rigid.

“I’m thinkin’ something along the lines of bowling and stargazing,” Rio muses out loud. She chokes until she clocks the mirth in his eyes, as he turns to her fully.

“Just kiddin’. I think you’d enjoy dinner, sure, somewhere obscure and specific, because yeah, you’re obnoxious when it comes to food--” 

“Says the man still crying over his skyr?”

“--and then he should take you dancing, feel you up a little, get you the good bourbon. Somethin’ like that. Nothin’ too crazy.” 

Her throat tightens.

“Well?” Annie looks at her with expectancy. She shrugs, forcing a laugh.

“Let’s be real, neither of those really sound like me. Can you imagine me going dancing? Or sitting through a whole dinner with a stranger?” She tries to make her voice sound airy. “I don’t know, I think I’d be fine with just having a couple of drinks and playing pool or darts at Lucky’s, to be honest.”

“So, basically, what you and Rio do every other weekend?” Annie’s voice is laden with something uncomfortably close to pity. _Shit._

“Maybe,” she says with a laugh, hoping they can just collectively not acknowledge the truth in those words. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just not made for the whole romance thing.” Her voice trails off a little, and an unfamiliar feeling sets over her. She feels her throat threaten to close up, her palms gripping her knees a little too intensely. 

“If you had to pick though…” Annie urges, sending meaningful looks that Beth doesn’t want to decipher. She sighs.

“Fine. Rio’s sounds better.” She turns her eyes to him, taking in the smirk she loves to hate so much, ignoring Annie’s indignant noises and protests.

“Ah, sweet victory.” Rio closes his eyes, looking thoroughly satisfied as he leans back against the couch.

“I demand a rematch! This judge is clearly biased! I’m gonna call Ruby!” Annie yells, but not before Rio swoops in and plucks Beth’s phone from her hand.

“Nuh-uh, I won. Told you, I know all her dirty little secrets.” Annie’s face clouds over. “Yeah, yeah. Keep on telling yourself that.”

After Beth’s sends Annie a look begging her to stop, she sits up, shaking herself out of her uneasiness.

“Why do you both want me to date so badly? I’m perfectly happy as is.” Maybe. Sort of. If she tries hard enough to ignore the hollow sense of loneliness that sometimes comes and grips at her throat. One that doesn’t fade, no matter how many Sunday brunches with Ruby and Annie she has, or how many times Rio sends her that full-bodied laugh on tequila nights. One that gets louder and louder the more distant Rio gets.

The tilt to her sister’s brows tell her she’s full of shit, and her mouth opens to call her on it, when Rio starts talking.

“Maybe this way I get fewer awkward run-ins with your hook-ups in the morning. Fewer insights into what they sound like in the throes of pleasure.” He says it jokingly, but there’s a tightness to his eyes that makes her frown.

“I thought the walls were soundproof? I never hear you--” 

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” he mutters darkly, mostly to himself. Which -- _what?_

Not even touching that comment, she asks him what run-ins he’s talking about.

“Oh you know, like with ya boy from the grocery store. Sure didn’t love to see his gloating face in the morning.” 

Oh. Right. 

She’d caved and texted Jasper the other day -- not to prove a point to herself, but maybe also not to _not_ prove a point? 

“Who?” Annie’s eyes move between the two of them, taking in the tension between them. Is this why he’s been acting weird lately? He’s cranky at having to converse with their cashier in the morning?

“Nothing. He’s no one,” she responds quietly. She eyes the set of Rio’s jaw, the clenched fist her phone sits in. “You don’t have to do all that,” she says to him, figuring he’s in no state of mind to make a glowing dating profile for his roommate who, apparently, has been subjecting him to the loud grunts and unnerving presence of her latest lay. 

He quickly starts tapping away though, even asking Annie about his photo selections but shielding the screen from Beth. She snorts, but she can’t distract herself from feeling his disappointment in her, heavy as it starts to weigh on her.

Yeah, okay, maybe she shouldn’t have taken Jasper to their place, but she needed to make sure he knew that she really didn’t have a boyfriend. Something he’d taken as an opportunity to fuck her very enthusiastically and yes, loudly. She’s done overanalyzing her motivations though -- she knows full well bringing him home was an attempt at convincing herself of something or the other. 

But this? Rio’s disappointment? His annoyance towards her? That would’ve made her reconsider, had she anticipated just how paralyzing it could be. Just like the feeling of his giddy attention layered on her, lush and hot like the pregnant heat of summer, can swallow her whole, so does his coldness become all-consuming, unavoidable, sharp in its aim at her. 

She swallows. She can make due. She can force herself to shuffle away his annoyance and focus all her attention on the fact that it’s been a while since he’s had a woman in his bed. Yes, that piece of knowledge is something that can warm her, something that she can suckle on, that can sweeten her insides as she fights to push away all the other things that came out of his mouth tonight. Maybe, if she tries hard enough, she won’t taste anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had entirely too much fun writing this.  
> come find me on tumblr @ inyoursheets to yodel about brio w/ me.


	5. (v.) LEAVE ME WHOLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which somebody's evening ritual gets interrupted. and then the interruption gets interrupted. wait, what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this one took a little longer! i thought this chapter worked but then it didn't and then it kept not working and taunting me for days, nay, weeks, and it was only today that i finally managed to make the chapter do what i wanted it to do.  
> anyways, hope u enjoy, good luck, im sorry

_let me go / leave me whole / let me hope / leave me numb / lay me open / let me run_ (RY X, DUKE DUMONT – Let Me Go) 

It’s late when Rio suddenly bursts in her room, the way he always does -- leaning his torso inside the room, his left arm stretched, his hand on her doorknob, but leaving his feet planted firmly in the threshold, like he’s trying to avoid stepping onto holy grounds. It’s late enough that she’s already showered and washed her face, late enough that she’s naked under her thin robe and refusing to let his presence interrupt her lathering her legs with a peach-scented body butter.

“What?” She doesn’t lift her face, instead busy trying to avoid the thick cream getting on her sheets, continuing to spread it over her right calf, the crevice of her knee, and up to her thigh, only to move to the other leg once she’s done.

She hears a choked noise escape his lips, so she turns his head towards him. His eyes are on her legs, following the line her hand makes as she finishes moisturizing. She tilts an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

His eyes still don’t meet hers, and he’s being too quiet again, like the other morning, and it’s freaking her out again, so she gets up, moves over to him, and before she can overthink it or he can stop her, wipes the remnants of the body butter on his forearm, smiling up at him.

“That’s what you get for interrupting.” She’s aiming for joking, but her voice is a little small, thrown off by his silence. She watches him straighten up and look down as he rubs his arm, feeling the sticky cream, spreading it further so there’s no trace of the white substance, only its scent.

“Smells good,” he comments. She nods. “Smells like you,” he adds, finally looking her in the eye, his gaze heavy, prickling with something she doesn’t know how to name but it draws her in nonetheless. She chuckles.

“Yeah, I use this baby every night.” That gets her a thoughtful nod.

She watches his throat bob, sees his body going lax, languid, against the doorframe. It’s hard not to love the sight, hard not to be fascinated by his ability to let all tension seep from his body and stand so relaxed, anywhere, anytime. He stares down at her, eyes not leaving hers, and the prickling feeling seeps through her again, hums through the air, gesturing at something and at nothing at the same time. She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering not for the first time why she can’t get a read on him. He tracks the movement, eyes silent.

“What’s up?” she repeats, uncertain still when he doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t want him cold again. _Please, don’t let him be cold again._ He blinks.

“Oh, yeah, so. Was gonna ask if I could borrow a condom.”

She raises both eyebrows at that, feels her eyes widen, straining.

“Who’s getting lucky?”

She speaks over the sound of something inside her dropping and crashing and flinging into a million pieces, already moving out of his space because if she doesn’t then she’ll hear what he’s saying and maybe collapse, heading towards her nightstand, trying to stop her thoughts from exploding out of her body, through her sternum or her jugular vein, somewhere.

“Me,” he responds, gazing at her as she’s rummaging through the top drawer, but to no avail. “Alright, don’t tell me. I’ll find out eventually.” She grins at him, her throat tight. “Hold on, let me check my purse,” she mutters, realizing there are none in the drawer.

“Actually thought I had some left, but turns out, no. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Now he’s raising a brow at her, judgement clear on his face. She meets his eyes sheepishly. “You caught me. I may or may not have raided your stash last week. I had a need.” She shrugs.

The annoyance is clear on his face. “Wanna tell me about that next time before you leave me without any, or,” he trails off, moving his jaw impatiently. She bites her lip.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I should’ve told you.” “Should’ve asked.” “Yes, that too.” He hums, unamused.

When her purse also comes up empty, she holds up her palms to him in apology. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t have any. Could’ve known, actually. That’s why I took yours the other day when Jasper came over.”

“How come Jasper didn’t bring any?” It’s a question, but his voice is flat. She shrugs again, hating the feeling of not knowing how to answer him, of his sticky annoyance, the solidity of his disappointment. 

“Guess he was out, too.” 

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t go all prim and proper on me now, darlin’. Don’t act like that wasn’t premeditated on his end. Bet he’s been thinking about fucking you raw ever since you showed up at the store in those tight little yoga pants of yours.” 

Beth freezes. “What? What are you even saying right now?” She’s never heard Rio talk about her like that.

He chuckles dryly. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You know men like him ain’t no good. You know how they look at you,” he says, like it’s obvious, like they’ve had this conversation before.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her voice is shrill, and he takes her in again at that. “How do they look at me?”

He shakes his head. “Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes,” she responds empathetically, “please do, because you’re making zero sense right now.”

He straightens up, takes a deep breath, holds her eyes, and --

“They look at you like they’re imagining bending you over the nearest surface and fucking you so hard you can’t walk straight. Like they wanna tear you apart and leave you sticky with their seed between your legs. That’s how they look at you. All of ‘em. At the grocery store, at the diner, at Lucky’s, at fuckin’ IKEA. Is that what you wanna hear, huh?” 

His gaze is hardened, his body taut with tension, his anger on display but contained, railed in. He works his jaw.

“What you think it’s like for me, huh?” he continues. “To watch them leer at you all night like you a feast laid out before them? To watch them not listen to a word you say, just picturin’ you naked and bouncin’ on their dicks, only to watch you take them home and let them have it?” 

She reels back at his sharp tone, his crude words, the cold in his eyes, but he’s not finished, taking a step closer to her, his face serious, eyes willing her to understand.

“They don’t deserve you, Elizabeth. They look at you like you nothin’ but a piece of meat. They don’t _see_ you.” He shakes his head, eyes moving away only to come back to her with something so hot in his gaze it scorches her the moment their eyes meet. His voice gets hoarse, starts dripping into her like honey, his words hitting her full speed, flinging at her body. 

“I see you. Ain’t nothin’ ‘bout you just a piece of meat.”

She swallows. And swallows again. Her body is thrumming, something inside of her tugging at her so violently she is afraid she’ll snap in two, as she takes in what he just said.

He’s brought her to her knees, left her raw and exposed and still, safe, warm, because it’s _him_. She can trust herself with him because no matter what, he will always find her. No matter how much he bares his teeth and snaps at her, he will find her, no matter where her mind strays, no matter how deep she sinks into the microwave dinners, the quickening rate of empty bottles of bourbon to be taken to recycling, or the string of casual sex with cashiers, fellow gym-goers and the occasional costumer. He’ll always find her, he’ll always find a way to pull her out of the rut and into him, into herself. He knows where to find her underneath the hurt and the distortions. 

He sees her. He sees her and it scares her, except it doesn’t -- if anything is terrifying, it is precisely that. He sees her and she doesn’t know what to say in response, doesn’t know how to return his heart, doesn’t know how to answer for her sins, just knows the way her bones, her veins tug her towards him, always. She’ll always come barreling straight back into him, collapsing into him one way or another.

So she starts by calling his name, because his name feels safe and expansive and promising, loaded, but she’s interrupted by a high voice, calling that very name, clutching it out of her throat, robbing her of everything she doesn’t know how to say.

Rio looks over his shoulder, and sure enough, the tiny frame of a woman emerges. Not just any woman. Aria.

Aria, sweet Aria she always jokes with when she picks up her latte. Aria who once let her borrow her phone when hers died to let Annie know she was running late but taking care of dinner. 

Aria, who now recognizes her and seems as surprised as Beth feels. 

“Beth! What are you doing here?” Her face is open as she smiles at her -- a beautiful, wide smile, one Beth has noticed in the coffee shop many times, paired with eyes that shine so bright they made Beth stammer a little bit the first few times she gave her order. Her eyes have an intoxicating pull to them that Beth only knows from poetry and the man whose attention is now flittering between the two of them.

“I live here,” she supplies unhelpfully, not sure what to make of Aria’s presence in their apartment, in her room, in the intimacy of the conversation they were having, now interrupted, dampened, made to go in hiding, only showing its face in looks they share and lack thereof.

“Right! I had no idea you guys were roommates! What a small world,” Aria chuckles. She walks into the room, wrapping a hand around Rio’s arm, the one Beth knows is still sticky from the body butter she impulsively spread on him. His eyes on hers seem to want to tell her somewhat accusingly that her actions will cling to him tonight, fill his senses like the peach scent of the cream. 

Aria tilts her head up at Rio, looking so dainty next to him in a way Beth would never manage, with her height. “Rio? Everything okay?” 

He nods, eyes still trained on Beth, who can’t stop looking at Aria’s small hand on Rio’s arm, only for him to move his eyes to Aria and repeat the gesture. 

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go back to bed,” he says, voice devoid of the anger it just held. He moves away, touching Aria’s shoulder as they make their way to the hallway, and he glances back at Beth with a loaded look. 

He shuts the door without so much as a goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[chuckles] i’m in danger**
> 
> also pro tip maybe don’t steal ppl’s condoms without their permission??? beth, girl, wyd


	6. (vi.) STANDING STILL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which somebody gets ready for a date and somebody else lends a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, so, there are mentions of infidelity in this chapter, towards the end. if you wanna avoid reading about that, skip from "Didn't work out very well, that." to "It's the quiet comfort (…)"

_every time i look at you standing still, i wanna wait / but you never tell me no, baby wait, baby stay / so i'm trying to get us back together / though we never been apart_ (LYKKE LI – Hard Rain)

She’s standing in the living room, next to the pile of weighty art history and photography books that doubles as a side table, hosting Annie’s ugly lamp-gift and one of their leafier plants, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror sheathed against the wall next to the window. A soft sigh escapes her mouth as she tugs down the bodycon dress that she knows is bordering on overdoing it -- but Thanh, the match Rio and Annie had settled on for her, said he was taking her to Elixir, and she’s seen the people that go in and out of that bar. _Wine bar_ , her mind supplies.

She can hear the rustle of Rio moving around in his bedroom, probably reorganizing his closet or unnecessarily tidying up like the little stubborn neat-freak he is. Despite his recent coldness her heart still melts a little at the thought of him muttering to himself in there, sorting through his clothes. 

It’s been strange between them, lately. She doesn’t know how many times she’s mulled over his words, trying to see what he was getting at, what he would have said -- what _she_ would have said, had they not been interrupted. She’s come to realize maybe Aria barging in was a blessing in disguise. If it wasn’t for her, she might have let something slip, might have shown him all the heavy feelings in her heart for him. Maybe she would have tugged on his sleeve and pulled him close and whispered all her truths into his ear. She was so close to spilling it all, the weight of his words pressing on her lungs, her chest, begging her to release what’s been trapped there so long. She feels drunk, knowing she held all of that debilitating knowledge in the palm of her hand and almost just… _handed_ it to him. 

She considered telling Annie and Ruby about his little speech, since the words swirl around her brain all the time, shards of _what you think it’s like for me, huh?_ and _they don’t deserve you_ and _I see you_ constantly flying into her field of vision, that last one in particular so loud it makes her tremble, but what would be the point? They never fully understood how she feels about him in the first place, their relationship a little too complicated, a little too intimate to properly explain. All she’d get would be questions, urges to tell him how she feels about him, like that’s an option. Like that wouldn’t leave her standing raw and naked and so overwhelmingly alone at the end of it, with him packing his bags and abandoning the home they have together, because she went ahead and torched it, complicated it -- and she can’t do that. She can’t lose him. 

His newfound coldness bites at her skin, has left her embarrassingly close to tears on more than one occasion, in the privacy of her bedroom where he told her he sees her, because she doesn’t _understand_. She doesn’t understand his distance, especially paired with those words, the magnitude of which have made her sit and stare at the floor, at nothing, trying to process what the hell it means. It paralyzes her, because God, isn’t that the most terrifying thing anyone could ever say, do? Isn’t it horribly frightening, to be seen? To be known? For someone to see it all and not run? For someone to see her and know her and stay? She feels naked around him, exposed, like he can see all of her nerve endings, can feel her shudder for him, ache for him, over him, like he can feel the pulse of the current of want, need, hurt with his name on it. Nothing scares her more than him seeing everything underneath her surface, all the tangled-up, ignored feelings, all of the darkness and the selfishness and the harm she causes other people, herself.

It had to be him, too. Had to be Rio, this wonderful imbecile she’s wrapped her heart around, unwilling to ever let go, who sees her for who she is. There’s always gonna be a space carved out for him the walls of her dumb, reckless heart. 

She feels heavy, the tears always too close to being spilled, hot at the surface when she thinks of what could have been had she dared to open her mouth and hand him the match, no matter how many precious possessions in their home would have went up in flames should he let it drop to the floor. It’s too late now -- now there’s Aria. She scolds herself for how much that bit bothers her, knowing full well it’s silly to let it get to her that much. She knows more than anything she shouldn’t let herself fall apart over this, reminding herself again and again that he can do whatever he wants, and he should date, if he wants to date, and she’s got no business feeling any kinda way about it. Still, she can’t help but mourn a million what ifs. 

There’s a time and a place for such mourning, though, and it is definitely not half an hour before a first date with somebody else. So Beth turns her attention to the necklaces she laid out on the arm of the couch, trying not to bite her lip. They’re both not exactly right – the teardrop one not working with her neckline, the rosé gold one too simple. 

“I need new jewelry,” she mumbles, taking both and moving them to her neck in turns, eyeing the mirror the whole time. The rosé gold works with her hair, but not with the lipstick she’d picked out. Maybe if she changes that -- after all, does she really want to wear something called Honeypot on her lips? But then she’ll have to go through the whole process again.

Her mind drifts back to Rio, who spent maybe ten minutes getting ready for what she assumes was his second date with Aria, decorating his fingers with the rings he likes and spritzing on his new cologne -- the one Beth spent a lot of time rushing from store to store for, the one she wrapped in mat black wrapping paper because he’s a snob and _presentation matters, Elizabeth_ , the one she gave him for his birthday and spent a few shift’s worth of wages on, all to see that little smirk and approving nod when he opened the flask and smelled it the first time.

He hugged her so tightly after, whispering in her ear she didn’t have to spend all that money on him, and she’d smacked his arm for it. But she’d leaned into this embrace, and they stood there for a long time, in his clean bedroom where she’d brought him his birthday breakfast, his eyes still crusty, her hair still frazzled. 

That was her favorite version of him, in the early morning, all sleepy and tactile and _mellow_. The one that’s so easy to know. The one that’s so generous with his touch and his smiles and his fondness for her. Her heart tugs a little. She hasn’t seen him like that in a while, with the remnants of their interrupted conversation clouding their interactions, and him staying over at Aria’s and her crashing at Ruby’s and once, notably, at Jasper’s, which she vowed to never do again after. They just kept missing each other. 

_How does it get to be so easy for him?_ Beth frustrates herself thinking on it, remembering the easy confidence and distinct lack of nerves he left the apartment with, swinging a _later, darlin’_ her way, tone husky, probably at the prospect of the beautiful woman he’d be sitting across of, looking at with half-lidden eyes for the rest of the night. It’s just too easy to picture -- the smoothness of his voice, the lazy drag of his eyes over her body, the quirks of his mouth at their conversation. 

And he would take in Aria’s beautiful, big laugh, the one where she throws her head back and her face is so _open_ , the one that made Beth think Aria was the kind of person she wanted to know. He’d get his fill of her tiny body in some stylish date-night outfit, maybe something with bold colors or an unapologetic amount of naked skin in places Beth wouldn’t dare to bare. And he would get to touch her, he would get to curl a hand around her neck, maybe drag her out of the restaurant early, maybe tug her into his lap in the backseat of his car.

“Elizabeth.”

She shudders, pulling herself from her thought, surprised to have missed Rio making his way over. She clears her throat, her eyes meeting his before letting them scatter away quickly.

“How long have you been standing there?” 

He chuckles.

“Was about to ask you the same thing, darlin’. Everything okay?” His voice is soft in a way she hasn’t heard in a while, and she’s shocked by how badly she wants to hear it soften again for her immediately. God, what happened between them? When did he stop mellowing his voice around her, when did he start harshening his tone, keeping his distance from her?

She nods meekly at his question, holding the necklaces up in the air. “Which one?”

The small smile he sends her feels warm, and she opens her mouth a little, like she can take it in better that way. He folds a hand over the fist she’s clutching the necklaces in. “Lemme see.”

His hand is warm, rough, enveloping hers. She turns her clenched fist around, waiting for him to grab the pair, but he just tugs her hand up higher, scrutinizing the thin little chains, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth.

She can’t keep her eyes off his face though. He’s so close she can easily scan the dark hairs above his lips, the tiny, almost unnoticeable mark on his cheekbone that she loves, the space between his brows. After some consideration he concludes he’s gonna have to see them on her to decide, which makes her smile a little. It’s just so _Rio_ of him to be so thorough with everything.

So she swivels around on feet, bare but for the nude pantyhose she squirmed herself into half an hour ago, and moves a hand to tug her hair up and out of the way for him. He lays the teardrop necklace down and opens the clasp of the other one, and before Beth’s registers what’s happening, she feels the warmth of him across her back, eyes shooting to the mirror to clock every movement he makes as he lifts his arms over her head, the ends of the necklace in each hand.

She stirs a little at the feeling of the chain on her neck, a harsh breath leaving her mouth at the cold of it, save for the part warmed by her fist before. 

“Mmm, I don’t know,” he purrs behind her, eyes on the tiny jewel that’s now resting in the space between her breasts that makes her wish she could’ve worn a different bra with this dress.

She looks down with him. “Yeah, doesn’t work,” she agrees quietly. He nods resolutely, moving a hand to open the little clasp in her neck, using the other to move some of the hairs that slipped from her grasp out of the way. His hands feel big on her neck, his hold on her steady like the breath she can feel leave his mouth.

Her throat feels dry and her eyes are transfixed on Rio’s movements as he swaps out the necklaces, the teardrop chain landing inside her dress by accident. Embarrassed, she fishes it out of her cleavage, as he tries to close the clasp in her neck, losing it a few times.

An annoyed huff leaves his lips, the air hot on her skin, and she silently lets him fiddle with it, watching as he gets more agitated, until it slips between his big fingers. She catches it as it glides down her chest, pressing her hand flat to her body. 

The frown on his face makes him harder to read somehow. She realizes they’ve been quiet, too quiet, so she moves the necklace up again, waiting for him to take it, and blurts out that she’s nervous.

He quirks a brow at that, eyes going to hers in the mirror as he takes the chain in his hands again. “What for?”

She looks away, forcing a laugh. “I haven’t been on a date since, what, junior year of high school? I don’t even know how it works, to be honest.” 

“What, did Dean Boland not show you the ropes?” She snorts at that, surprised he paid enough attention to remember her ex-boyfriend’s name.

“Not really. He mostly took me places hoping to show off his skill at something, only to be disappointed when I wasn’t as vocal with praise or as in need of his assistance as his previous girlfriends. He thought he could beat me at pool, can you believe it?” The blank look on his face melts into a softer kind of smile, one she's missed dearly.

“Didn’t work out very well, that. Especially since I caught him with Amber Dooley in the library stacks days before our one year anniversary,” she adds, frowning at the hurt in her voice that is obvious even to herself. His hands, finally having finished the job, rest on both of her shoulders, and he’s pressing closer.

“Fucking idiot,” he hisses, “you know that, right?” She nods. 

“Wasn’t your fault,” he adds, why she doesn’t know. So she nods again, swallowing. He squeezes her shoulders.

“This why you haven’t been dating?” His voice is quiet, his head tilted a little. She shrugs, aiming for casual, but she can’t stop herself from biting her lip. Can’t meet his eyes, either.

Amber Dooley. Katie Heralds. Moira Avery. Riley Simmons. Patricia Myers-Klein. She remembers them all, remembers Amber’s blank face, Katie’s unapologetic hair-flip, Moira’s wide eyes and shocked stammers of apology, Riley’s questions, Patricia’s drunken wails. Anybody but her. Anybody. It was a game to him, to see how much he could get away with. And she let him -- let him give his teary-eyed apologies and self-deprecating speeches, only to do it again the next time somebody willing came along. 

She should’ve dumped his ass the moment she saw him gyrating against Amber in the Ancient History section instead of giving him the opportunity to chip away further at her self-esteem with his pathetic excuses and twisted lies, but he did a good job of convincing her that her coldness played a part in his actions. She never told anyone, too ashamed, too convinced that it was her own fault. It wasn’t until Annie saw him with Patricia one time that she finally pulled the plug, the cat out of the bag. After her sister’s fiery rants about how she deserves much better and her elaborate fantasies detailing how she would feed Dean’s remains to the baby bird she found, she finally found the courage to put an end to it.

Rio stays quiet, waiting for her to speak while she sinks away in old pain. His hands warming her shoulders steady her, despite the erratic pace of her heart. It feels like they stand there for hours, in their living room, early dusk bleeding from the windows and spilling into the room with the rush of the street down below. He’s just calmly taking her in without moving away.

“I--” she starts, unsure. He leans in a little, as if not to miss any word from her lips. 

“--shouldn’t still be bothered by it, I know.” Her voice trails off at the end, but she commends herself for getting it out in the first place.

He’s quiet. She can’t read his face. She raids her mind for a way to baby deer him now, but she’s not sure how to make him readable again. Then he pulls on her arm, tugging her to the couch, sitting down with calculation. 

She copies his movements and turns to face him, not sure what to expect.

“It’s okay if it still hurts, you know?” 

She swallows. It’s uncomfortable, the heat of tears clawing at her throat. 

She doesn’t know what to say, only knows she wants, needs him close. She shuffles towards him a little bit, and fortunately he recognizes her bid, wrapping his arms around her. He tugs her body into his, and Beth’s eyes are getting wet at the relief she feels that they haven’t drifted so far apart that they can’t have this anymore.

She whispers to his chest that it still hurts as he rubs small circles over her shoulders, using his other hand to pet her hair. 

It hurts, Dean’s infidelity, his repeated betrayal of her trust and the massive dent to her self-esteem he created, but the pain she feels right now, as she sits aching in his arms, is infused with everything that has and hasn't been happening between them. The thought of losing him in any capacity is unbearable. Her body feels like it’s splitting open any time he turns away from her, but she can’t tell him that, so she just lets herself sink into him, lets him believe it’s Dean Boland that’s making the tears leave the corners of her eyes, leaving wet patches on his shirt. 

It’s the quiet comfort of his presence, one she’s missed so much, that has her immovable in his embrace for a good while, savoring it, while something inside her bleeds and bleeds and stains. 

When her legs start to hurt from the angle she’s launched herself into, needing his touch, she moves back a little, looking up at his calm eyes. She breathes out. 

“Thank you.”

He nods at her in response, and she slowly gets up from the couch, a hand pushed to his chest for balance. He lets her lean on him, looking at her through his lashes.

“Go have fun on your date, Elizabeth.” His voice is hoarse, and layered with something she’s too exhausted to name. He gets up after squeezing the hand on his chest and walks towards his room.

She makes her way back to the mirror so she can try and fix her mascara and salvage her hair, when Rio turns around, looking at her.

“We should go to Lucky’s sometime soon. You can beat me at pool again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, how are we feeling???  
> also just a head's up, it might take a little longer until the next update, since i'm working on a beth/rhea/rio threesome fic for the good girls prompt-a-thon that i have to finish by may 26th. i can't tell which fic is gonna be more ridiculous, that one or this thing right here, tbh.


	7. (vii.)	SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which ruby observes two (2) idiots.

_somewhere in between you and me / there's a space, there's a space / i've made_ (VÉRITÉ – Somewhere in Between)

“So, how was your big date?” Ruby’s voice is warm, like her eyes, as she takes in Beth’s face with curiosity. “Annie told me Rio picked this guy out for you?” 

The words are loaded with two years of seeing Beth’s eyes gleam at the sight of him, heavy with all the times she’s seen her buzz at his presence, hang onto his lips, spend all her energy on masking the way her heart shrieks for him every day.

Beth snorts, crossing her ankles. “Technically, yes. Please promise me you’ll never leave me alone with the two of them again.” 

Ruby laughs, taking a sip of her coffee. “They love you.” 

“I know, but if I want to continue to love _them_ , I need you here next time.” 

It’s objectively hilarious, the idea that she could ever stop loving her baby sister, or the man who’s captured her heart since day one. But Ruby lets her get away with it. 

Her laugh loosens something in Beth’s chest. “Fine, fine. Now, spill. I’ve been sitting here entirely too long for you not to have given me any details. What’s he like?” Beth looks away, smiling a little.

“He was… great, actually. I had a good time. I hate that.” Ruby frowns. “I hate it when Rio’s right,” she adds, Ruby raising both eyebrows at that. 

“Forget about him -- you, Beth Marks, went on a date for the first time in literal _years_ and you had a good time? Who _is_ this mystery man?” Beth smiles at the giddy tone of her best friend’s voice.

“His name is Thanh, he’s thirty-three years old, he’s got a job and a dog and a _car_ \--”

“Lord. The bar is actually on the floor.”

“--and he’s _nice_ , he asked me questions about my life, handsome, aging like fine wine, made me laugh, _great_ kisser,” she rattles.

“Bitch, how come you didn’t lead with that?” 

Beth sends her a look. “Since when is that worth mentioning? That is the least interesting thing to happen last night.” 

The _most_ interesting thing to happen last night was that she actually went through with it, sitting there at the bar waiting for her date to show up, while her mind was tumultuous with the way Rio had touched her and looked at her right before she left, but sticking it out nonetheless. The weight of Rio’s look had lingered all night, even as Thanh showed up, even more charming in person, making her laugh so hard she’d gotten some looks at different points in the night.

Ruby hides her smile behind the ocean green cup in her hands. It’s from the set Rio picked out, way back when they moved into the apartment and went on their third IKEA run. She’s still not sure how she managed to talk him into that. The coffee cups had been the only things he hadn’t complained would clash with his aesthetic.

“True, but it’s juicy.” Ruby pulls her back to the moment, before she drifts off into those early days, when they were just messing around together and there was no hurt, only hope. She waggles her brows, making Beth giggle.

“Since when do you wanna hear about my sex life?”

“Sex life? Elizabeth Irene Marks, tell me you did not fuck this man on your first date!” Beth’s mouth twitches.

“What? No, that doesn’t sound like me at all.” 

The mirth in her voice is hard to hide as memories of last night come back to her at breakneck speed -- Thanh kissing her thoroughly before her Uber came, the feel of his tongue in her mouth and his broad hands in her neck thrilling enough for her to ask him to take her home instead. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d let herself lose herself into another body, hoping to sever the aching ties, the heartstrings with Rio.

The way his hands had lingered on her waist answered for him, telling her exactly how much he liked the sound of that. Maybe it was unfair, to let Thanh pull her into him like there wasn’t a shadow of longing for another man glued to her at all times, but, a little buzzed on the fancy wines he’d bought her and the complex looks Rio had sent her before, she didn’t let that stop her. 

“Hate you.” 

“Hate your face.” 

“So, any plans for a second date with Mr. I-have-a-job-and-a-car?”

Beth’s thoughts fly back to this morning, to Thanh’s lingering kisses at the door after their lazy, hungover attempt at morning sex, which involved more laughter than anything else. It was nice. Light, in a way she had missed. 

“Yeah. He’s taking me to one of his restaurant openings next Saturday.”

“Restaurant openings, plural? Okay, he scores some points. Now tell me, how was the sex?” Ruby’s voice drops low at that, just when Rio emerges from his bedroom, making Beth’s eyes pop.

“You’re home? You’re home. Hi, Rio.” She’s aiming for casual but as Ruby’s pitying look tells her, she’s failing miserably. “How much of that did you hear, exactly?”

He smirks. “Enough to know I get to be insufferably smug for the next two to three business weeks without any complaints from you. Well done, Elizabeth. Congrats on the second date.” She smiles a little, thanking him -- but she’s unsure what for, exactly. 

“And the sex,” he adds, making his way to the kitchen, but not before sending her a lazy grin, obviously clocking the blush that’s now gracing her cheeks.

“Asshole,” she says under her breath, embarrassed but not surprised he caught that, turning her eyes back to Ruby.

Ruby, who’s sitting there on their leather couch, hand in her lap, head tilted, giving her a look, both brows raised. 

“What?” 

She just snorts at that, shaking her head. 

“Oh, honey.”

“What?” she repeats, acting dumb, but all Ruby does is grin and get up from the couch. 

“This has been lovely to watch, I must say. Honestly, between you and Annie, I don’t know who entertains me more. Now, I have the delightful pleasure to go work a double right now, so if you’ll excuse me.” She makes her way over to the door, Beth trailing behind her. 

“Wait, please, take some chili with you for dinner. Our neighbor made way too much,” she says quickly, remembering how a frazzled Stan had showed up at their door yesterday, arms once again full of food. She walks into the kitchen to grab her some, when Rio beats her to the punch, already taking the food out of the fridge.

“Hmm, chili sounds good.” Ruby takes the container from him with a grateful smile. “You sure I can leave you without any? I’m not ruining your dinner plans, am I? I don’t want you setting the kitchen on fire to be on my conscience,” she jokes, having suffered through some of Rio’s more questionable cooking. He’s not _all_ bad, but there have been a few incidents involving a smoke detector and elaborate apologies to Mrs. Karpinski.

“Nah, you’re good. I’m having dinner at Alessandro’s.” 

Beth freezes.

“With Aria?” Her voice sounds a little breathy. She doesn’t know why she’s asking a question she sincerely doesn’t want an answer to, but it’s too late, he’s already giving her a curt nod.

“Yeah, she likes Italian food.” 

Ruby’s eyes flicker between the two of them, taking in Beth’s frigid stance, the pain laced in her eyes, her attempts to swallow the hurt away.

“Big date?” Her voice is softened, rich with a cheerfulness only Beth can recognize as pretend. Rio shrugs with a smirk.

“Don’t know about that, but yeah. Figured if I could find that one a date, why not do myself the favor, too,” he says, nodding to Beth. “’Sides, not to brag, but I got great taste.” 

He smiles. It’s quiet. Beth clears her throat. 

“Yeah, Aria is great.”

Ruby is sending her all sorts of looks, probably ready to pounce with questions about this particular development, but she pretends not to notice. The longer she can postpone that conversation, the better.

“I thought Alessandro’s was that Lebanese restaurant Annie got kicked out of?” 

Leave it to Ruby to know when to mercifully change the subject. 

“Oh, she got banned for life. Now _that_ was a night.” Beth grins at the memory.

“I don’t think I know that story,” Rio says, head tilted to the side. She pats his shoulder in response, unable to help herself from reaching out to him. It’s nothing, she’s barely touching him, but she's missed him so much his scent overwhelms her senses. 

“Trust me, it’s best you don’t.” 

He surrenders with a laugh. “You probably right about that.”

“Sometimes ignorance is bliss,” she jokes, but it falls flat, hard, smack-dab on the floor, her tone off by a mile. She wonders if he can hear the layers of feelings she has hid from him in her voice. She knows Ruby can, doesn’t need to turn around to take in her understanding, her empathy, her pity.

“Don’t know about that,” he mutters, a frown on his face. She tries to swallow, paint on an airy smile and wave the moment away, but his eyes look at her a little too intensely for her to do just that.

Ruby shakes them out of their unspoken misery and whatever was close to erupting from the weighted moment, announcing that she really has to go now. Beth gives her a tight hug, squeezing her longer than she usually does, needing the comfort of her closeness. She gets a squeeze in return, Ruby’s quiet support, her tacit _I’ll stand by you_ , before she untangles herself from Beth and sets for the exit.

On her way out, she turns to Rio, raising her voice.

“Bye, Cupid! Let me know when you’re done finding me my match.”

Rio’s laugh is warm, the way it always gets for Ruby, both having almost reluctantly grown fond of each other through the years, despite their initial clash. “Will do.”

“I’ll be waiting,” is all she sing-songs in response before closing the apartment door, leaving Beth standing next to Rio. Looking up at him, she’s surprised to already find him looking at her. He quirks a brow. 

“So, he’s a good kisser, huh?” 

She grins up at him. “Yeah, you know how to pick ‘em.” 

They stand there, staring at each other. Beth rubs her palms on her jean-clad thighs, clearing her throat.

“How are things going with Aria?” He blinks. “Sorry about the other day. Hope I didn’t ruin your night,” she adds, not sure why she’s bringing it up.

“Don’t worry about it,” is his only response. 

His silence unnerves her, so she tries again. “You guys have been on what, three dates now?”

“Somethin’ like that.” 

God, he’s giving her nothing. Bumping against him with her hip, hoping to jostle him into talking, she bats her eyes at him.

“Come on, give me something! How’s the sex?” 

She’s not sure who is more surprised by the words that leave her mouth, and the onset of regret is immediate and loud, but at least her question makes the corners of his mouth curl a little. She’s not sure whether that means it’s the best sex he’s ever had or he’s simply amused at her odd behavior, as she is once again desperate for him to use his words.

“Why, darlin’, you need tips? Didn’t think you’d need any, what with him rating a second date.” 

He moves in closer, bringing a hand to a strand of hair to tug it behind her ear in an easy, familiar gesture, but something about the tone of his voice feels off.

She’d do anything to get him light and joking with her again, so she gives him her best pout. 

“You don’t wanna tell me? Is this the same man who once gave me a play-by-play of his one-night-only reunion with his ex-girlfriend New Year’s Eve 2016? I know more details about that woman’s body than I do my own,” she jokes, remember that night far too well. 

He raises his eyebrows at that. “If that’s true, I’d encourage you to ditch the men you’ve got lined up and instead focus on some good old masturbation, sweetheart.”

She blushes.

“‘Sides, the time I told you all that I was drunk, that doesn’t count,” he adds. 

They _both_ were drunk. Beth had chugged the bourbon like juice in order to stomach his sudden need to share intimate details of the night he’d shared with his ex.

But she grins. “So you’re telling me I should ask next tequila night? Okay, I guess I can wait.” He smiles, shaking his head, moving a knuckle to ruffle over her head.

“You crazy, crazy woman,” he mutters, rubbing his fist while she tries to move from his grasp, “I don’t know how I put up with you.”

She pinches his waist in response to his familiar refrain. “Shut up. You’d be lost without me and you know it, babyboy.”

He laughs a little at the silly nickname she refuses to stop using. Then he clears his throat. 

“Speaking of tequila night, I was thinkin’ Aria could join. Cool?”

Beth’s throat closes up, but she manages to nod. They fall silent, unable to let their eyes meet. 

She doesn’t get it. She thought they finally felt like them again last night, when he listened to her, when he held her close on the couch, when he promised her Lucky’s. But now he wants to invite his, what, soon-to-be-girlfriend, to a standing ritual of theirs?

“Is she your girlfriend now?” Her voice is so small and she hates it, but she _has_ to know. 

He stares at her, mouth open. He’s quiet long enough for her to roll her shoulders and put her hands in her back pockets, thumbs poking out. 

After a minute, he shakes his head to himself with a scoff, the movement not striking her as an answer to her question. He moves around her without a word, leaving her standing by herself. 

“Rio,” she starts.

He turns back around when he reaches his bedroom door, dark eyes taking her in with an incredulity she can’t make sense of. His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks.

“Does it matter?”

He disappears inside. The question lingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alessandro’s is 100% a friends reference i did not need to make and im SORRY  
> anyway so i did not expect to have another chapter up before the threesome fic, but here we are. who is the true clown here? [cries]


	8. (iix.) A MIRRORED HEART

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter features no avoidance of people or feelings whatsoever and a very normal tequila night. yes, that's what's happening here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MASSIVE thanks to foxmagpie, without whom this chapter would not exist in its current state. id just be a floating ball of misery, stuck with this fic if it wasn’t for her!!!! also a big thanks to hereliesbethboland who gave me some last-minute, much-appreciated encouragement and practical help w/ this chapter!!!

_but i'm never gonna give up / though i'm probably gonna think about you all the time / and for the lovers who found a mirrored heart / they just remind me i'm without you_ (FKA TWIGS – mirrored heart)

Unlike those big, awkward ones in her apartment that never shut, Thanh’s windows—floor to ceiling, sleek, dripping of casual wealth, much like the rest of his place—don’t open. The view is a treat like no other, with the easy morning light glittering in, leaving Beth peering at it with her first cup of coffee in her hands, clad in Thanh’s white sheets, feeling every bit the cliché. It’s hard to not bask in it though, especially when Thanh walks up behind her, wraps her in his broad arms, humming in her ear that breakfast’s ready. 

It’s been hard not to bask in that either—letting him take care of her—despite how terrified and crowded it makes her feel at times. He says it a lot, murmurs it into her skin, his face pressed in between her breasts, pleased sighs leaving his mouth showing his appreciation for her softness. 

“Wanna take care of you,” he’d mumble, before kissing his way down to her thighs, nosing into her pussy. He keeps doing it, too, handing her a plate of food in the morning, wrapping her in his fluffiest towel after they shower together, rubbing her shoulders when she comes to his place after work tired and tense from Anton’s whims and all the hours being on her feet.

“Ready for today?”

“Nooo,” she draws out, sinking back into his embrace, “I don’t wanna leave.”

It’s a half-truth that swings from one side to the other every few minutes, dizzyingly so.

“You don’t have to leave just yet. We have time.” He’s right. He knows her schedule well enough by now, knows she needs to leave ten past eight at the latest, or Anton will lose it.

She turns around, meets his deceptively calm gaze, recognizes the heat lying underneath it. She crashes her lips onto his, hesitating not a moment longer before wrapping her arms around his neck. Thanh gathers her hair into his fist, as he likes to do. Starts whispering in her ear about his plans, his intentions, and it’s everything she wants to hear, because this? This she knows how to handle, this she knows how to play, unlike the other plans he’s hinted at, plans involving a future beyond the inevitable orgasms and maybe a second cup of coffee that lie ahead. But this—him, tugging on her hair, pressing against her, panting? This she can handle. With pleasure.

She drops the sheets and spreads her legs on instinct. Grins at the slight gape of his mouth her actions elicit. There’s little chance that will bore her anytime soon.

“Yes, baby,” he coos, moving a finger to her folds, spreading her wetness around. Her eyelids flutter at his movements, loving the slight pressure of his digits, reveling in the fact they’re doing this in front of the big windows, easy for Detroit’s morning to see. 

She lets him take her right there, again, her ass leaving prints on the otherwise squeaky-clean windows, their breakfast slightly cold afterwards, their shoulders bumping into each other as they share a giddy silence as they come back to earth.

She kisses Thanh goodbye at the door, tonguing inside his mouth like they’ve got time for another round. It makes him grunt, squeeze her waist, push her away in a mock-gesture.

“You should really go before I do something that makes us both late for work.”

“Tempting,” she sighs, a hand working his tie, pulling him back in one more time, because it _is_ tempting, especially with how low his voice gets in lust. The rich laugh she gets in response makes her wish for another few days off work, more time to trace the veins of his arms, to memorize the sounds he makes when he’s about to come, find a new sense of comfort in his big arms and luxe apartment, far away from the uneasiness that lies behind her own front door.

“See you soon,” he says, his smile making his eyes crinkle. “Have a good day, baby.”

She closes the door on her way out after a final, lingering peck to his lips.

“Beth!”

She whips her head around at the call of her name, abandoning her quest to find out the weather forecast for today while juggling her keys and her latte. There’s a prickle to the air that tastes of storm, making her regret getting drunk and forgetting her umbrella at Lucky’s a few weeks ago—but there’s no need for it yet, skies still a deceptive blue.

“Stan!”

She can’t help the smile jotting onto her features, watching her favorite neighbor approach with a half-jog.

It’s a pleasant surprise, seeing a familiar face after spending what ended up being over a week at Thanh’s apartment. Going by the size of Stan’s smile, she’d say he’s glad to see her too. It’s an upside to her cowardice, seeing him here—she can admit to herself that she didn’t feel all the way ready yet to face a certain excited, beautiful barista at her usual spot, so she tried the next café over.

“Come here, you,” he says, before enveloping her in a bearhug, swaying her in his arms. She sinks into his embrace with enthusiasm, shrieking when he tries to lift her up. She’s vaguely aware there must be curious eyes on them from fellow caffeine seekers, but she squeezes his arms and hums happily anyways.

“So, how’ve you been?” Stan asks when they untangle from each other, shuffling her into a seat by the window. “How come you didn’t watch the game with us last night? I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without seeing you and honestly, I don’t love it.”

Beth laughs.

“Oh, hush. You act like you’ve never missed a game before.”

She brings her to-go cup to her lips, acutely aware of the fact that she’s supposed to be meeting Ruby soon, not taking a pitstop to drain her caffeine source right here at the café, but Stan’s company is too pleasant to abandon him already.

“Yeah, but I gotta say, I was not prepared to deal with a sulking Rio,” Stan shoots back, eyes glimmering with a joy she hasn’t seen in a while, not with how stressed his job has had him lately.

Beth lowers her coffee.

“Rio was sulking?”

It’s hard to picture. Sure, she’s seen him in a bad mood plenty of times, watched him frustrate himself over his schedule, his crossword puzzle, having to be conscious before seven in the morning, but _sulking_? Rio?

“Yup. He wouldn’t say it outright, but I know that man’s been missing you.” 

Stan looks at her with his head tilted and smirks.

“You’re blushing,” he points out.

“Shut up, Stanley,” she bites back, bringing her beverage closer to her face to hide her blush and its accompanying insuppressible smile.

“All I’m sayin’ is, I wouldn’t mind you joining us next time. Pretty sure you’re the only one who can talk him out of his little tantrums, get him to relax.”

She laughs. 

“He does have quite the dramatic streak.”

“Yeah. Plus, he’s been kinda tense lately, don’t you think? You two are good, right?”

Are they? She hasn’t seen him in days. Left a lot simmering in the air, a lot to deal with later. Later, when she has to face him and Aria on tequila night. 

Fuck.

Well, at least there’ll be alcohol.

She’s not sure what flashes across her face, but it’s enough for Stan to reach across the table and squeeze her hand.

“Hey, hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re fine. We’re good, don’t worry. I won’t leave you alone with a sulking Rio next time, I promise.” 

She gives him a smile, tries for self-assured but probably misses. She can’t keep eye contact, breaks away from his kind eyes, looking out the window for a view she can swallow easier.

To her surprise, her eyes meet the warmth of her best friend, standing outside the café.

“Oh! Ruby’s here. I gotta go.” She starts scrambling for her purse, almost knocking over her drink in the process. “It was good to see you again, Stan. See you soon!”

She’s gone with a final squeeze to his elbow, hurrying outside with her cooling latte, feeling Stan’s eyes prickle the back of her neck all the way until she’s in the embrace of her best friend.

It’s cold, the feeling of the droplets of rain soaking the back of her shirt, and with hurried movements she untangles her scarf and takes off her jacket, eyes scanning the bar until they find his, warm, bright, sparking something— _something_. Something big and vibrant and complicated. There’s a hint of caution to them, too, a layer of timidity so uncharacteristic in its aim at her. His look leaves a taste of hot, pulsing familiarity in her mouth regardless.

The relief that he’s sitting there alone, his big hands clasped in front of him, resting on the no doubt sticky table of their usual booth, is louder than the noise of the music coming from the speakers beside the door. It crowds her more than the overwhelming feeling of pushing through the horde of singles on the prowl, solitary patrons looking for some liquor, and colleagues ready to get drunk and embarrass themselves before the weekend hits and they can sleep off the memories.

“Elizabeth,” he greets her once she’s made it through, voice mellow, liquid, neutral. She smiles at him in return, squeezes her wet hair in an attempt to dry herself, swinging her body into their booth, facing him.

“Took you long enough,” he remarks, but there’s no bite, just careful regard. 

He’s right—it did take her longer than usual, weaving through traffic after dinner with Thanh and the… dessert they had. There’s something in Rio’s loaded demeanor that leaves her wondering whether he’s not just talking about tonight, though. Maybe he’s talking about how long it took her to scurry for courage and daunt to dance back into his vicinity. 

She rolls her shoulders. Feels the ache in her thighs. Clears her throat.

“Yeah, sorry. The heavens gave me payback, though.”

He smiles at her bad joke.

“You here now. That’s what counts.”

She tries not to let his words warm her. Feels somewhat grounded by the all-consuming cold of her wet clothes, her still-dripping hair. 

“I could use a bath right about now,” she sighs, a little put-on wistfulness in her voice. She looks at him pointedly, knowing he’ll see the sparkle in her eyes soon enough. He gives her that slow, captivating smile of his, the one that spreads over his features with a pace so languid it takes her in like a metaphorical frog floating merrily in a pot, about to get boiled, wholly unable to stop it from happening.

“You still lobbying for that bathtub? I thought you let go of that dream, darlin’.”

Righting her blouse, she lets her gaze flutter back to him. “I never give up hope.”

His lip quirks. 

“Admirable,” he rasps after a silence, his eyes gliding over her face, her wet hair, the floral print of her blouse sticking to her skin.

She just hums, starts shifting in her seat. “Did you order anything yet? Or—” 

Or is he waiting until his date shows up?

It’s like the piss-pouring rain swells on again, this time inside her tumultuous mind, so she quickly busies herself with the menu, determined to not let the thunder show.

Rio hisses. 

“What are you doin’, Elizabeth?” 

She looks up at him in question. He eyes the teal, laminated menu in her hands.

“The fuck you need that for? Quit actin’ like you don’t know how this goes.”

Somewhere in his words there’s a plea, if she peels back enough layers. She tilts her head, enticed by the thought of what could be there, shuffled away by the harshness of his tone. He’s always been the most tantalizing person she knows, so skillful in how he uses the presence he commands, the rasp of his tongue. 

But knowing him—knowing him deeply, she understands there’s a vastness underneath all that. All she has to do is sink nails into skin and wait for it to bleed. 

“Wanna shoot some pool?” 

A light scratch, just enough to stimulate him, get his attention. It works—he gives her the big grin, the one with the voltage high enough to rival the lightning swirling inside, outside.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

She’s a bit wobbly on her feet when she clambers out of the booth, not sure whether she should yank him by the arm and tug him towards the bar to order shots beforehand the way she normally would, or if that’s not something they do anymore. If she still gets to touch him like that.

She swallows. What was the last time he touched her? The last time she felt his body heat? The last time he full-body relaxed around her?

At least he’s got a slightly cheerier step now, when they make their way through the bar, ordering drinks on their way over. It doesn’t take long before they’re hovering near the pool table with the usual four shots of tequila and a silence that is new.

Rio shuffles his hands into his pockets, only to take them out again, clasp them behind his back, clearing his throat. Beth desperately tries to find something to focus on, anything, anything other than the smell of his cologne and the fluttering of his lashes. 

It’s like neither of them knows what to say now, now that they’ve spent more time apart than ever, now that there are Thanhs and Arias in their lives. It makes her pulse quicken in fear, fear she’s lost her friend, maybe for good, what with the vibrant person that’s now part of his life in new and significant ways. Fear that a world has ended, one in which she gets to know him better than anyone else.

But then she misses her mouth in her eagerness to get some alcohol into her system, making tequila dribble down her chin, and before she registers what’s happening, he’s pressing in close, wiping at the liquid. His thumb rests on her chin dimple as her mouth gapes. 

Mesmerized, he peers down at her, his eyes big like he can’t believe what he’s doing either.

“Rio?”

He clears his throat, moving his hand from her face. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay, I liked it.” The words are out of her mouth before she has a chance to consider them. She curses the tequila that up until now had been her only hope for making this night somewhat bearable, a blush decorating her cheeks. He smiles softly, eyes kind.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, aware of the fact that she’s looking up at him through her lashes with ample quantities of unearned hope in her eyes. She takes in the lines of his tattoo as he bobs his throat, feeling dizzy with it. 

“I miss you.”

Her eyes shoot up to his, mouth dry at the heat she finds there. The next breath leaving her mouth is loud, a near sigh.

“I miss you too,” she confesses, the truth of it so strong she feels like it’s bursting from her insides. It’s hard to reign in all the feelings rushing through her at his words, at his loaded looks. 

She whispers his name again, because there’s nothing but him, she doesn’t have words, doesn’t have a clue, knows there’s somebody on her way to the bar who’s troubling things, complicating them further, captivating smile and all, and somebody else whose fingerprints still decorate her hips with tiny bruises, somebody she can barely think about right now. 

Rio just gazes at her, saying lots and nothing at once. His half-lidded eyes make for a timeless resting place she doesn’t ever want to depart from. She silently begs him to not leave her again, to not go cold again, to stay, even when this moment inevitably shatters. Something in the way his chest heaves promises her that.

They’re quick to spell apart at the sound of three women toppling over in laughter nearby, but he doesn’t stray far, tugging playfully at her hair before taking his shot glass in hand.

“Come on, I wanna see if I can beat you at pool.”

“Impossible,” she chokes out with relief so heavy, it gets lodged between her shoulder blades, body swaying as she goes before him, making her way to the pool table. His pinky brushing at her hand in motion mirrors her relief back to her.

Beth doubles over, laughter spilling from her in hiccups, her body toppling straight into Rio’s while he snorts so loudly the guy in the maroon shirt sitting in the booth closest to them shoots them a heavy frown. 

“You are unbelievable,” Rio sighs, surrendering to his defeat.

“You loooove me,” she sings, rubbing a hand over his back unthinkingly, letting her body soak in its tequila haze.

He just looks at her with his frustrating eyelids hovering, slipping, tugging her into him with his gaze until she can’t look anywhere but in his eyes.

“Whatever you say, darlin’.”

“You miss me,” she repeats back to him. “And I miss you. Really. I miss this. I love beating you at pool. It makes me so happy. All is right in the universe again.”

He smiles, but it doesn't meet his eyes this time.

“What?” she asks, bumping her hip against his, moving her hand from his back.

He clenches his fists. Unclenches. Shakes his head. Turns his body to her fully. She sees his hand tremor, his pinky jutting out, as if he’s trying to hold back from touching her hair again.

“If you miss me so much, then how come you don’t come home?”

Their eyes meet and she’s the frog in the water again, letting it happen, letting him wash over her. She bites her lip. Isn’t that the question? But how can she come home, when home looks nothing like what it once was, holds tensions she’s never encountered before?

She tries to recall Ruby’s words, the ones she spoke so calmly while they walked through the mall together after she made Beth spill her feelings about Rio dating someone and the changes happening between them, made her confess that she feels like she’s losing him. How nothing is set in stone, least of all relationships. Least of all a home. When there’s an unspoken ache, a distance, a silence—it’s not set in stone. They’re not set in stone. Even if they were—the deepest waters can carve paths through stone, split rocks with time.

Her shoulders jump when a droplet of water drips down her neck, a shock to her body that makes her jerk closer to him.

“Elizabeth,” he says, and she doesn’t know what it means, for him to say her name like that, stare at her like that, stay close like that. Doesn’t know what to make of it, not with the tequila humming through her, whispering things, tugging at her determined rationality until the strings come loose and the idea of pulling him closer sounds more reasonable and appealing with every beat of her watery heart.

Her body jerks again when his phone buzzes, and they break apart like the heavens parting for rain. She sees Aria’s name flash across the screen when he takes his phone out of his pocket.

He doesn’t look at her again, just answers the call with a hoarse voice. 

Beth stares at the pool table, dizzy from the thoughts she almost entertained, the people she almost hurt, the risk she almost took. Seeing him again is simultaneously better and worse than she expected, worse, so much worse, because now she remembers how good it feels to laugh with him, to play with him, to drink with him, and has to share it with somebody else, somebody who gets to laugh and play and drink with him in ways she doesn’t.

Rio clears his throat. 

“Aria’s here. Be right back.”

“I’m gonna go back to—” she trails off, gesturing to where they were sitting before, already starting towards their booth when he grabs her elbow.

“Rematch?” 

There’s no grin on his face, but his eyes are light and insistent. She swallows. 

“Think you can handle another defeat?”

He chuckles. 

“I never give up hope. Ain’t that what you said?”

Her lip quirks.

“Get out of here.” 

He swivels around with a laugh, heading towards the exit to find his date. Beth makes a detour to the bar.

The small window in the far corner of the bathroom sends a gush of wind inside, giving her goosebumps. She washes her hands, staring at her reflection. Her hair is finally close to being dry again, albeit too frazzled for her liking. Her mind drifts back to the sight that was front of her just a few minutes ago: Aria, wearing a turtleneck the color of melted butter, paired with a muted pink ruffled miniskirt that left most of her thighs bare, laughing at one of Beth’s jokes.

It’s funny, the irony of it, but Beth finds herself almost _liking_ tequila night with Aria in attendance. It’s not really tequila night—it’s just a night with tequila and one more shot glass than usual in the mix, giving the occasion a whole layer of strangeness. Sure, it’s weird, and it makes her skin crawl when she thinks about what brought her here, but if she ignores that bit, she is actually finds herself enjoying Aria’s company.

It remains refreshing, meeting a woman as comfortable with herself as Aria is. She is solid, self-assured, enough so that she dares to ask what she wants of people—of Rio. It’s admirable, it’s everything Beth should have done when she had the chance, all the days, all the weeks, all the months she had with him. She is quick to realize the growing resentment that she silently fosters for Aria actually has her own name on it. That realization doesn’t make her ache any less, a chorus of insecurities and comparisons flinging through her mind the whole night, but at least it gentles her a bit towards their guest.

Rio’s insistence to invite Aria made for an awkward third wheel situation, except to Beth’s surprise, the part of the third wheel gets rotated.

First, it was her, of course it was her, sitting demurely at their booth as she watched him greet Aria at the door with flirty laughter and a kiss. It made her cower a little, clutching her drink like it was gonna save her, wrecking her brain for excuses to get out of what was bound to be a very painful experience. But God, tequila night is a standing ritual, she can’t just up and leave.

Aria quickly dispelled the tension with her big smiles, being so sweetly grateful to be there. Beth is relieved that Aria isn’t the overly affectionate type—she’s not sticking to Rio the way some couples in the bar do. There’s a buzzing energy to her, an enthusiasm that’s hard to not be affected by. As the night progresses, the alcohol loosens them up enough to peel back some of the initial awkwardness of the situation, revealing that Beth and Aria can get along like a house on fire. 

Or… when Beth forgets Rio’s there, they do. Not that she ever forgets he’s there, not really. He’s hovering next to them, eyes hopping from his—from Aria to her. When she doesn’t think about them, together, it’s not too torturous, especially when she focuses all her attention on sharing terrible customer stories and mocking Rio’s pretentious taste.

The latter hurts a little though, because she can’t help but feel like she’s sharing delicate, hard-earned information, things she’s learned about Rio over the years as they sunk together more and more, with somebody who is basically still an acquaintance to both of them. Well, to her more than to Rio. For all she knows, they may have had life-changing late night talks, reached a kind of intimacy that cannot be copied, bottled, not easily found or traced or put into the right words. 

Beth discovers that Rio doesn’t know how to act around the two of them. It’s oddly unnerving, and, she quietly realizes to herself, kind of charming. Cute, almost, the way he becomes shy. She’s never seen him this quiet, this unsure of himself. It makes her want to hug him close to her chest, rub the back of his neck—an exceptionally bad idea and definitely the tequila talking. But the urge to make grabby hands at him doesn’t fade.

She feels petty, but a part of her really doesn’t want to share camaraderie with Aria over things she’s known about Rio for years, while Aria has learned them, what, last week? _I know him so much better than you_ , she wants to scream when Aria brings up his dairy preferences, but she knows she has no business ruining this for him. He was sitting so quietly in between them before she went to the bathroom, as if he didn’t know what to make of the situation he created. But he wanted Aria there. He brought her to their bar.

Shaking her hands in an attempt to dry them, she turns around, looking for the towel dispenser, only to find it empty. 

Pushing the door open with her hip, she lets it swing and bang against the wall, her head unsteady, the tequila doing its duty. It’s not until she flings her gaze away from the sticky floor that she sees their booth is empty, leaving her eyes to roam over the bar in hunt for her company. Irritation starts crawling through her, its pace slow, its presence increasingly heavy, sitting in her gut as she looks around, until—there, in the corner. 

Beth swallows. Twice. 

It’s unmistakable, the broadness of Rio’s shoulders, the dark getup, Aria’s mostly bare thighs wrapped around his waist.

Her own thighs are wound tight in a locked stance as she watches them make out. She tries to dry her hands on her jeans—can’t, because they’re still wet from the rain, but she barely registers it, eyes glued to big hands wrapped around a body that’s not hers.

Her turn to the exit is swift and smooth, her step determined, her heart racing. Now it’s her digging for her phone, already pressing for Thanh’s number even though the thought of seeking him out makes her throat close up as much as it comforts her, too.

He calls her baby when he picks up. The sweet taste of relief mixed with fear pangs through her, but she’ll take it over the loneliness that’s sticking to her like—like two bodies wrapped up in each other.

She needs to leave.

She runs to her car, hoping the rain will spare her this time, but with no luck. When she makes it to Thanh’s apartment, she lets him towel her dry, before falling asleep in his crisp, white sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!!! anyone still remember this fic???? not me!!!! anyways thank you for your patience!!! i got distracted by threesome fic writing and a little tiny baby writer’s block. a writer’s pebble, if you will.  
> either way i hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! im excited about getting back into this fic and i hope you are too!!!


	9. (ix.) CRAWLING HOME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [crashes through the wall] did someone say bed sharing?????

_no grave can hold my body down / i’ll crawl home to her_ (HOZIER – Work Song)

A horizontal curtain of shadows crowds the apartment as she drags her duvet over to the couch, tugging it over the blanket she already spread over it, knowing the leather would stick to her body otherwise, what with her bare-legged sleeping attire. It’s as she’s rearranging the pillows to create something resembling a comfortable place to sleep tonight despite knowing the couch will definitely mess up her back that the conversation she had with Rio the night after she dipped, leaving him and Aria at Lucky’s to make her way to Thanh’s bed, starts soaring through her mind again.

It’s like they had two conversations at once—him asking where she went, her telling him they looked like they wanted some privacy, vowing not to cockblock again, not by way of stealing condoms nor by not knowing that three’s a crowd, especially when two out of three have wrapped themselves around each other when the opportunity presented itself—with hushed begging underneath the surface, from both their ends. A shared longing to not lose each other again, to not grow into strangers who share a front door and a past.

His eyes were so big when he asked her where she went, like he really did miss her, like he wanted her around—almost like _she_ was the one who went ahead and stuck her tongue down Aria’s throat. She’s not sure what he expected—did he really think she would sit in their booth and wait for them to finish making out? And then what? Do some shots? Watch them tumble into his bedroom to finish what they started? Face Aria the next morning, knowing she’d been bouncing on Rio’s dick all night? Not a single bone or vein or molecule in her body could muster the strength to stay for that. 

He seemed somewhat settled with her answer at the time, scratching his neck, nodding to himself a few times.

It’s like the past few weeks they both decided not to address the exact words they shared that night—but they’re there, hidden in their interactions. He’s grown softer again, a little less cold than he was before, teasing her more instead, and it has her so relieved she laughs a lot, and easily too. Nervous laughter, for the most part, but it does help relieve the tension—she can’t help it. Every now and then Rio has her in stitches, joins in with his own full laughter—and it’s like they’re them again. As long as she doesn’t think about what he’s doing when he doesn’t come home at night.

She’s too caught up in what her hands are doing and mulling over her last few interactions with Rio to register that the man dominating her thoughts has sneaked up behind her, suddenly chiming in her ear with a “what are you doing, Elizabeth?”

Honestly, who can blame her for that little jump and shriek? He should be glad she didn’t smack his face in the process. 

“Rio! You've _got_ to stop doing that!” 

He smirks at her for that, moving a hand to one of the pillows. “What’s all this, darlin’?”

“Can’t sleep with the fumes from the paint.” 

He raises a brow and she smiles excitedly. 

“That’s right, babyboy, that pretty lilac is now officially a thing!” 

He snorts, shaking his head. “Can’t believe you went with _lilac_. God, you’re so hard to live with, babygirl.” He winks at her, bumping his shoulder into hers.

“Hush. The damage is done, deal with it.”

She preens, happy to finally have her closet painted the color she wanted for months.

He eyes the couch.

“Yeah, that thing’s gonna fuck up your back, and it won’t even be worth it. You stayin’ with me tonight.” 

Her brain short-circuits at his suggestion. The thought of sharing a bed with him—feeling his body heat up close, seeing him groggy and tired, his face being the last thing she sees before falling asleep? How is she gonna make it out alive?

His tone was definitive, leaving no room for arguing, but she pushes for it nonetheless. They both know her protests are just for show, know he’s stubborn enough to make this happen, would probably snatch her up and drag her to his bed, but they have to dance the dance anyway. She can’t just subject herself to that kind of torture without a fight.

“No, no, I don’t wanna inconvenience you.” 

He scoffs. 

“Or suffer through your complaints about my snoring,” she adds, eliciting the curl of his lips.

“What would inconvenience me is hearin’ you bitch about your back tomorrow. Come on, let’s go. Just stay with me tonight, I won’t bite.” 

He purposely bares his teeth at that. It makes her smile.

“Okay, fine. If you insist. But I’m gonna take a shower first.”

While the water warming her body did give her something grounding, it wasn’t nearly enough to distract her from the inevitable tension—inevitable temptation—lying behind Rio’s bedroom door. There’s no predicting what it will be like, no matter how many scenarios she spun while lathering her hair with conditioner. So she changes into her standard sleeping attire—his old baseball tee—after moisturizing her legs, thoroughly blow-drying her hair even though she’s never managed to successfully dry it all that way. Her nerves are begging her to just get it over with, so when she can’t stall any longer, she makes her way to his room, taking deep breaths, bracing herself.

It’s when she’s hovering near the door, feeling shy, that she realizes this is a terrible, terrible idea that can’t possibly end well. She’s eyeing the couch with longing when Rio yanks the door open, revealing a lot of chest and arms and skin and ink and a grey pair of sweatpants she’s never seen before.

Her eyes move over his body.

Is that—oh God. She can see the outline of his dick. Her palms clench tight. 

“I can hear you thinking, darlin’.”

Dear Lord, she hopes that’s not true. She can’t have him realize the sight he makes, with the hard lines of his stomach and something incredibly appealing barely hidden by his sweats. She swallows, tries to file the view away for later, when she can meditate on the exact shape of his dick in the privacy of her bedroom, beckons her eyes up, to gracefully avoid a staring that would surely give away just how hot she is for him.

“Come on.” He steps aside with a sweeping gesture of his arm, like she’s entering the royal chambers, not his unnaturally neat bedroom that she’s been to many times before.

Following him inside, a little hesitant, she sends him a look when she clocks the immaculate floors and straight corners of his duvet. 

“Don’t tell me you just cleaned before I came.”

He raises a brow at her. 

“Of course I did. Who do you think I am? The kinda man that doesn’t clean up his space when he invites a woman into his bed? Nuh-uh, that ain’t me.” 

Her lips curl up at the reminder of his specific cleaning habits—until his words hit her and she realizes she’ll never get that kind of invitation into his bed, won’t even be that woman. He won’t ever mean it like that with her. She quickly shoves those glum realizations deep down, can’t have him clock her shift in mood.

Still, the mirth in his eyes has her shaking her head in amusement, so she pushes a hand to his chest to move him out of the way—tries not to glance down again, committed to making this whole event as smooth as possible, but the temptation wins over, has her peaking at his crotch in what she hopes is a subtle fashion.

Good God, he’s—not lacking. At all. Anywhere. 

She coughs.

“You’re crazy. Am I even allowed to touch this bed?”

It’s not even that she’s a messy person—always the one to clean up Annie’s room whenever she gets a chance, and masterful in the art of stealthily deep cleaning the kitchen whenever Rio’s gone so he won’t lecture her about doing too much—it’s just that she can’t imagine her space without any clutter, and Rio’s bedroom is so freakishly organized it makes her scared to touch anything.

“Of course,” he snorts. 

“Just asking. Wouldn’t wanna taint it,” she responds, smiling at him as he stalks into her space, pushing a hand against her shoulder to move her to the bed.

“Come on, don’t make me beg you to come into my bed, darlin’.” 

Her smile turns positively gleeful at that.

“Hmm, now that you mention it, I could do with some begging.” She crosses her arms, plants her feet firmly onto the ground right next to his bed and looks at him expectantly, hiding the way his warm hand on her shoulder makes her flutter on the inside.

He sighs, muttering that he walked right into that one. She’s grinning, unable to hide her joy. She looks at him, wondering whether he’ll give up and just send her back to the couch, when he suddenly bats his eyes at her, stepping closer to her until they’re chest to chest, and looks down at her from underneath his ridiculously long lashes.

“Elizabeth.” 

The rasp of his voice makes her swallow as she looks up at him, taking in his pout. He inches even closer. 

“Please come to bed.”

She shudders. Damn it, he’s good. 

So she puts on a loud sigh, eyes moving to the bed. 

“Fine, if it means that much to you.” 

“Good,” he grins, only to quickly move one hand to her neck and the other to her knees, lifting her up without so much as a grunt. She wraps her hands around his neck in response, afraid she’ll drop to the floor otherwise, and he removes the hand in her nape to peel back his sheets. Then he looks back at her, face serious, his bottom lip still jutted out, mouth gaping a little in that frustrating, alluring way.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

Before she can respond or realize she’s staring at his lips, he gently lays her on the bed, moving immediately to tug the blanket over her, so her whole body is covered.

She rolls her eyes. 

“I’m not a child, Rio. You don’t have to tuck me in.” 

“No?” He walks around the bed to the other side, eyes not leaving hers, and crawls underneath the sheets. She’s up in a second, moving her body over his, pulling at the duvet next to his shoulder to tuck him in properly. He laughs underneath her.

“You a real piece of work, darlin’, anyone ever tell you that?” 

She freezes when she feels his breath on her forearm, eyes moving to his, surprised to see how close they are, her upper body hovering over his in her attempt to return the favor. His eyes flick to her chest and up again, a movement so quick it barely registers, but she feels the weight of it nonetheless, just like she feels the warm presence of his body underneath hers.

Her eyes move to his lips again. She can’t stop herself, that pout of his imprinted on her brain, she _has_ to look, has to see if his mouth is still that captivating, has to make sure she won’t miss it happening again. The soft sighs of his breath underneath her fill the room, keep her locked into her position.

Balancing over him, she realizes she doesn’t get to see him like this often—on his back, face slack, as she towers over him. It’s always him doing the towering.

“You okay, darlin’?” 

It’s a whisper, like he doesn’t wanna ask her, not really. Like he doesn’t wanna disturb her cataloging his features while her chest is so close to his face, her body almost pressing onto his, her arm getting tired of holding her weight. His voice is so gentle she wants to swim in the warmth in it, the warmth for her.

She feels herself nod, transfixed, and slowly begins to untangle from him, moving back to her side of the bed. He grips her arm though, looking up at her.

“All I can smell is peach,” he mutters after a silence. It doesn’t sound like a complaint, the way his lips curl around the words, the way his eyes glow. She returns his smile.

They stay there, him lying down, her in this uncomfortable crouch over him, taking each other in. Slowly he moves a hand to her lower back, and presses softly so she moves into him, falling into something like an embrace as she swallows, moving her head to rest on his shoulder, his chest, letting their bodies tentatively entangle with shy movements.

It’s easier this way, with her head pressed onto his chest, now that she can’t see his mouth, now that she can breathe again. It’s probably smart not to stare at his lips for too long—but lying on top of him doesn’t help her calm her thoughts at all. It’s making it increasingly difficult not to imagine what it would be like to fall asleep in his arms every night.

She wonders if this is how he and Aria share a bed at night, curled up around each other. The thought comes with sharp edges, has her swallowing twice. The feeling doesn’t subside.

He moves an arm so he can trace the curve of her back, her hip, making her shiver in the process. His hand stills and he clears his throat.

“So, how’d you manage to do it anyway? Did you convince Annie to help you?” His voice sounds gruff as it disturbs the quiet. 

It takes her a minute to realize he’s talking about the closet. Her mind flashes back to her lunch date with Thanh—her bringing up she’d wanted to use her day off to finally paint her closet but not being able to move the heavy, wooden thing herself, and him subsequently offering his services, waggling his eyebrows at her with a “I’m stronger than I look” at her stuttering response. 

She’d erupted into giggles at that, asking him if he realized how buff he looks, eyeing how his white tee stretched at his biceps. He’d been quiet, mouth open, and had proceeded to give her a kiss so thorough she’d moaned a little, unable to help the sound, never mind them being in public. At her questioning look after they finally managed to stop kissing, afraid to take things too far in the seafood restaurant they both liked too much to risk getting kicked out of, he simply said he liked her laugh.

So she’d dragged him to her place for the first time, riding his dick while the sunny afternoon filtered through her bedroom window, warming the carpet and bringing out the colors in the artwork on her walls. They were loud—him grunting with every thrust up into her body, hands squeezing her hips, her mewls dragging out the longer she rode him—making her feel glad that Rio wasn’t home.

Her orgasm had been a satisfying one, and he’d kissed her so sweetly after, before she rolled off of his lap and stretched out on her bed. She could barely find the strength to actually paint her closet after that.

One look at its violent yellow color had her up on her feet soon enough though, and they’d painted the whole damn thing together, finding enough ways to keep themselves occupied as the paint dried after each layer. First in the shower, where he’d fucked her against the wall with a surprisingly unapologetic, fast pace, which she vocally showed her appreciation for, and later on the foot of the bed, slow but steady, leaving her begging for more.

She bites her lip, unsure of her next move. 

“Thanh helped,” is all she says, feeling them both tense up a little. After a minute he hums. 

“How’s that going?”

She stays quiet, until he squeezes her hip again. “Sounds like boyfriend material, if he’s painting your furniture and everythin’.” 

She swallows, moving in his arms so she can look up at his face, only to find him staring up at the ceiling as he clenches his jaw.

“I don’t do boyfriends,” she mumbles. 

He flicks his eyes to hers. 

“You keep tellin’ yourself that.” She doesn’t respond. “I’m just saying, that’s boyfriend behavior.”

She huffs. 

“No it’s not, you’d do it for me,” she says, lowering her face to his chest again.

“Yeah,” he replies after a moment, clearing his throat, “yeah, I would. I’d do anything for you. You know that, darlin’,” he whispers in her hair. 

“Anything? Like agree to lilac?” 

She hopes he can hear the smile in her voice, not the way his words wash over her with tingling balminess.

“Like answering my question when I ask you if you have a girlfriend now?” The question falls from her parted lips without her permission—the damage done when he sighs.

“Let it go, Elizabeth.”

The following silence is tense to say the least—so unlike the silences they usually share.

Beth can’t help but remember lying in Thanh’s bed after tequila night, still smarting after what—who—she left behind at Lucky’s. Remembers staring at the ceiling for hours on end in the silence of his room, so unlike her own bedroom where there’s always the bass from her upstairs neighbor providing her midnight worries with a soundtrack. The whole time she was unable to think about anything other than Rio’s hands on Aria’s body, plaguing her mind with the question of what they would be doing that very moment. 

Still, it’s an easier question than the one underneath, the one that’s soaring through her brain at lightning speed at all times, buzzing closer to the surface each day. 

_Why her? Why not me?_

Why can’t it be her he passionately makes out with at Lucky’s after doing shots? Why can’t it be her he genuinely wants in his bed like that?

She thinks of all the times she slept in Thanh’s bed. The way his lax body still sometimes unnerves her a little, the presence of another person so close a little crowding. Imagines Aria’s tiny body tangled up in these sheets at night, Rio’s hands on her as they fall asleep together.

She clears her throat.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he says, his voice soft. His words make her frown.

“Goodnight, Rio.” 

He sighs, fingers tracing her arm as she starts to move away. “Don’t be like that, Elizabeth.”

She raises her arms a little, twisting around to look at him. 

“What do you want me to say?”

He shakes his head, his eyes full but he’s giving her nothing. After a painful silence, he sighs again.

“Sleep tight, Elizabeth.”

He’s gone by the time she wakes up the next morning, his side of the bed showing no trace of him, the corners of the duvet straightened neatly. She tries not to read too much into it. When she makes her way to the kitchen, rubbing the crusty corners of her eyes, there’s a stack of blueberry pancakes waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway, how are YOU????  
> i believe i have just successfully written an angst-free chapter, no? sorta? hope you won't get used to it <3  
> come find me on tumblr @ inyoursheets where i occasionally yell about writing this fic


	10. (x.) FIRING THE GUN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which rio has something to get off his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many a thank to the dearest foxmagpie for her amazing advice on this chapter + putting up w/ me gushing about these two!!!!!

_my heart cracked, really loved you bad / gunshot, i'll never get you back / and i ache, while you're not here / feel you aching / wide awake, why you're not here / i can feel you firing straight into my heart_ (LYKKE LI – Gunshot)

“So that was Thanh, huh?”

The words leave his mouth as soon as the door closes, making her whip around so fast she almost trips.

She most certainly didn’t plan on them meeting so soon, was counting on avoiding this particular interaction a good few weeks more, if her and Thanh even lasted that long, but Rio had come home earlier than expected, walking in on Thanh making che dau trang for dessert. She’s never seen him go blank so quickly, mask in place as soon as he clocked Thanh rummaging through the fridge to get the coconut cream.

Thanh, being so generous with the kindness in his heart, immediately invited him to join them, but he pointedly told them to enjoy themselves, before dipping into his bedroom without waiting for their response. The way he slammed his door shut would’ve been hilarious in any other context. 

She’d vaguely said something to Thanh to explain his behavior, mumbling about long work hours, but she’d felt a thrum of disappointment at her not being able to introduce him to one of the most important people in her life, which she tried to hide from him—to little avail, most likely.

She spent the rest of their night together with restlessness in her body, wondering what was going through Rio’s head. Like she does most of the time, their apartment infused with an uncomfortable tension ever since she woke up alone in his bed.

Like she does now, clocking his tense shoulders, mocking smirk. 

“Yup,” she affirms, recalling his words, popping the p like he would. Shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. Like she hasn’t thought about what it would be like to introduce the pair a hundred times, despite not being all the way ready for it.

“He cooks for you.” 

Beth tilts a brow. It sounds surprisingly much like a statement, not like a question. She nods slowly.

“Uh-huh,” she confirms, eyes tracking his face, wondering what’s there to it. So he cooks for her, so what? It’s his passion, one she readily plucks the plumpest of fruits from. 

“Right, right,” he says, dragging out the words. His eyes got the half-lidded thing going on, making her feel bare as he works his jaw. She can tell there’s something left on his tongue, something he refuses to give air or light to.

“Night.”

He swivels around easily, makes his way to his room with calm movements, giving her no more than the one syllable. She can't even pull a _good_ night from his lips.

She follows him. 

“Rio,” she asks—begs, maybe, she’s not sure what for. He wavers, waiting in the threshold of his room.

The stillness of his movements sets her off. The calculation that dictates how he carries his body at all times is still there, but it’s—it’s like everything is layered with second thoughts. His movements used to be soothing, or igniting. Nothing else. Now they’re dim, now there is no crackle of electricity or easy hum to them.

The shape of him in the door is static. There’s no fight, there’s no harsh _anything_ , just disinterest. It leaves her heart sore.

She clears her throat, gathering up anything inside herself that can pass for courage. 

“Why are things weird between us now?” Sticky warmth, uneven hope, it’s all there as the words leave her mouth in a tumble. 

He meets her eyes with something so loaded, troubled, she’s not sure what to make of it. His silence leaves her gasping inside, always inside, because she can’t remember a time in which he hid himself from her this much.

“What did I do,” she whispers, hating the hot onset of tears coming on.

He takes one step towards her.

“It’s not about you, darlin’.”

“No?”

“Maybe it’s about me.” There’s hurt in his voice, hurt she doesn’t recognize, but sounds painfully familiar anyway. Maybe she’s seen it in the mirror, gazing at herself. 

“Is it?”

Unwavering, his presence in her life. She’s never had to question it. He would be there in a storm. Whether it’s one she created or got tugged into, he’d be there, ready to anchor. How could he be the problem?

“Maybe it’s you and me,” he says, quietly. “Think maybe we crossed a line.”

“When? How?” She tries to keep her voice from faltering—needs something to resemble steadiness amidst the waves.

“Look. I’m seeing Aria. You’re dating Thanh. Think maybe it’s time we set some boundaries.”

“What kind of boundaries?” 

“Well, like telling the other person if we’re bringing somebody home.” It’s pointed. Contains—lots, little. Not a surprise though, not really. Not with how fast he shuffled his features into neutral nothingness when he found Thanh in their kitchen.

Beth swallows.

“I didn’t know you’d be home so soon, I’m sorry. Didn’t think you’d mind, Annie loiters around our kitchen all the time.”

“Annie is not your boyfriend.”

“Neither is Thanh.” 

He scoffs. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, darlin’.” 

God, the audacity of him. Anger flares up inside, licking at her, begging to be released on her tongue. 

“Do I need to remind you that you set me up with him? I didn’t even want to date,” she points out.

“Then why did you? Why go through with it? Don’t act like anybody forced you into it. Sure, you can blame me and Annie for that first date, but you are the one who agreed to a second date, and a third. _You_ invited him home, _you_ made him paint your closet for you. That’s on _you_.”

“I am just trying to figure out what this is. I’m not used to it, as you know.” She distinctly remembers the feeling of his arms wrapped around her after she recounted Dean's misdeeds. The safety of it. The memory has her yearn for it once more. A taste of it, a hint, a shot—she aches for it.

“Not used to what? Having somebody around to make dinner with? Somebody whose shoulder you can cry on? Somebody who can help you paint furniture?” His voice grows hoarser, eyes a new kind of scorching.

“Yeah.”

“Are you for real right now?”

“What? You know I haven’t had a relationship since Dean.”

“I’m not talkin’ about that.”

“Then what _are_ you talking about?” 

He’s quiet. Then—

“Do you not see me at all?”

“Of course I see you.” He is all she sees. By day, by night, always filling her senses, until all she can breathe is him.

“No, you don’t. Too busy focusin’ on yourself, too wrapped around in your own little world.” _What you think it’s like for me, huh?_

The sky is kindly littered with clouds, white puffs dotted all over the springtime evening. The sight would calm her, if it weren’t for the way he just gutted her. She’s slow to piece together what he just said, taking it in bit by bit, as if she would choke on it if she’d try and swallow it all in one go. 

“I live my own life. I make my own choices. I don’t have to explain them to you.”

“No, you don’t. I’m not askin’ you to. But would you for once look around at how your actions affect other people? You don’t exist alone in this world. Your actions have consequences.”

She stares at him. Barely recognizes him—barely recognizes herself, the bite to her words, the rise to her hackles, the vehemence of her denial about what her and Thanh are. Honest laughter spills from her tight throat, lips—makes its way into the room, her nerves splitting into something tittering without her say-so. There’s a mean curl to the sound.

“I never asked you to do all of those things for me. I don’t need you.” 

There is hurt in his eyes again. His eyes shape hers, gripping at her skin, bending her. She can already feel herself crumble, the hot, swirling feeling of regret soaring through her body. The gush of guilt makes her quiet, still, as it oozes inside of her.

He nods to himself, as if finding some holy assurance, some grounding conclusion, some taste of a necessary truth.

“I see.” 

He shifts, twists, wrangling his body out of the mess they made, but not fast enough for her not to notice the ripped flesh.

She doesn’t want to see him, doesn’t want to find him in the aftermath, wants to leave, turn, let him bleed out on the floor, choke on himself, on her, on everything they did and said and above all, everything they didn’t do, didn’t say.

She may have shot him, but God. He’s the one who put the loaded gun in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :):):):) should i hide?


	11. (xi.) REMAINS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which someone gets her feelings hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's me. im getting my feelings hurt.

_ever here that's lived in me is yours just as it was / and tell me if somehow some of it remained / how long you would wait for me? / how long i've been away?_ (HOZIER – As It Was)

She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, bugles and two beers waiting on the coffee table, the cold bottles leaving wet prints that stick like the hurt in Rio’s eyes last time they met hers. The flittering colors coming from the muted TV as Netflix plays a preview on repeat and the handful of candles the only sources of light as Beth bites on a nail, tugging the blanket covering her legs higher.

She feels restless, eager at the chance to present him with her peace offering. She’s barely seen him the past few days, what with him holing up in his room and ducking out of the apartment as soon as she came into his view. The only time she did run into him was when he was fresh out of the shower, right before she rushed into their shared bathroom, looking every bit as trapped as she felt. 

She’d noticed the dirt underneath his fingernails. It seemed tanged a red. Caked blood, did he scratch the wounds left by the words she hurled at him? Her aim was off—maybe he will realize the words were destined for herself. His words and his hurt looks are latched into her skin too, after all. No surprise would come over her if they left her limping for years.

The whole thing leaves her throat dry and desperate to seize this opportunity to make up for her sins, like that would finally have her breathe normally again, instead of gulping at the air in pain. So she waits patiently, with a tentative, quiet, pulsing belief their standing New Girl date will still mean something to him, will give her the opportunity to make up for her harsh words.

Like Mrs. Karpinski’s yappy terrier with its tail stiff at the first sign of a person approaching, she sits up straight, eager at the sound of keys in the lock.

Rio slips into the apartment, leaving the corners of her lips to swim up, hope flushing her cheeks—but he’s not alone. 

Aria’s chattering as she walks into the apartment with him, taking off her leather jacket, sending him smiles. Beth can’t even register what she’s saying, too struck by what’s happening. 

She can’t help it, can’t help sending Rio a questioning look when he finally meets her eyes after sticking close to Aria and taking off his own coat while hovering near her, softly murmuring things in her ear Beth can’t hear. Can’t hide the hurt in her eyes from him. Can’t stop the new burst of pain when he blankly takes it in.

To her shock he gives Aria’s shoulders a squeeze—a squeeze she can feel, his I-will-be-right-back squeeze—and walks into the kitchen, leaving Aria and Beth alone with all the things he doesn’t say out loud. Aria doesn’t look fazed in the slightest and simply makes her way over to Beth, stepping into the living room fully like there’s no past, no tree trunk of words, feelings, moments, crowding their apartment to trip over.

“Hi, Beth! It’s been a while,” she says in a friendly tone, and finds a spot on the couch next to Beth, who, after a silence in which she raises her nails to her mouth once more, realizes she should respond.

Yes, she should definitely say something—she knows she’s not being subtle, sending incredulous looks to Rio who returns with a third bottle of beer. But before she can think of anything to say, anything to mask the ooze of what they are and what they are not shimmering at the surface, he strides across the room, picks up Aria like it’s nothing, only to sit down on the couch with her in his lap.

The shriek and playful mock-punch he gets in response make Beth’s throat close up as much as his actions do. Rio finally turns to her and says, by way of explanation, “turns out Aria loves New Girl as much as you do.”

She nods her head, unable to speak, unable to return Aria’s smile. He’s clocking her rigid behavior, she knows, but he doesn’t say anything, and she figures that should tell her enough. All she can do is watch him move Aria in his lap, finding a more comfortable position, and stare as he jerks his head to the tv.

“Yeah, we ready.”

So she finds the new episode in silence and hits play. In the corner of her eye Aria takes a hand of bugles, Rio presses a kiss to her jaw and leans back, letting his arm stretch over the back of the couch, accidentally brushing against Beth’s shoulder. His arm jerks away like he doesn’t want to know her body heat or the racing of her pulse, the movement so fast it hits her harder than she wants to acknowledge.

The episode unfolds as she tries to ignore how Aria is tracing patterns on Rio’s hand or the way he’s playing with her dark hair, a gesture so familiar Beth starts to ache, but she can’t concentrate on anything else.

She’s lost to him. There’s no sunlight for them. They can’t find each other, only stumble in the weeds of what they don’t say and what they do accuse each other of, waking with dirt on their hands and scrapes on their knees. She wants to cling to what they were but it’s already coming off, hands losing their grip on wet moss-slicked stones and tumbling down into a newer fog where their eyes can’t meet, only prickle.

She wants to take everything she’s found in her heart and carry it to him, but his hands are out of reach, and full, at that. She wants to slither into his space again, let him cloak her the way he’s done for years, but his body is ripe with a need for distance and caution. Anything steady between them seems lost. 

She wishes for high tide, something to pull them together again, a string between who they are and who they have been, something to drag her out of her thoughts and him out of his apathy, something that can get taut with their familiar dances, but there is no moon and there is no sun, only the occasional flicker of light when they carelessly slip into what they had, only to lose it a moment later, like a stubborn wind flushing out candles.

Their conversations will never shelter what they once did, she's sure. But she’s got nothing left to prove, not to herself, not to him, not to the woman in his arms. 

When she realizes she’s not actually registering what’s happening on screen and staying put is a new kind of torture she isn’t prepared for, she stands, leaving the pair to look at her in question.

“You know what? I’m not really feeling it. Think I’m coming down with something. I’m just gonna go to bed,” she rattles, the words leaving her mouth like a pluck of smoke drifting up and away, forgotten, invisible to the naked eye soon enough, as she folds the blanket and lays it on the spot she just vacated.

“Oh no! Feel better soon!” Aria looks at her with big eyes and a supportive smile, and Beth suppresses a cringe. It would be so much easier if Rio dated someone unlikable and aloof, someone easy to throw in a box of familiar competition and envy, the way she tries so hard not to view other women anymore.

Aria has done nothing wrong—she did what Beth should have done but didn’t have the guts to do, so she sends her a half-smile with as much sincerity as she can muster. Her eyes move to Rio’s for a second, but she turns around when she clocks a frown she can’t read. 

It’s when she's almost at her bedroom door that she turns back around—only to watch him unfold the blanket and drape it over Aria, holding her body tight to his. The lump in her throat stays with her as she goes to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant lie i _really_ did hurt my own feelings writing this chapter.  
> ANYWAY just a head’s up, it’s gonna be a while 'til the next update, so sit tight my darlings! you can yell at me on tumblr @ inyoursheets in the meantime if need be


	12. (xii.) HEARTACHE ALONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you foxmagpie for your help with this chapter!   
> and thank you to medievalraven for your advice and support!!!   
> i appreciate your brainchildren!!!!!!

_how can we / turn around the heartache / oh i, i'm alone tonight babe / and i'm never gonna love again_ (LYKKE LI – Never Gonna Love Again)

There is a silence filling the space of their shared bathroom, between the teal-like tiles of the walls, the warm orange light coming from above the identical mirrors above the sinks, the towel rack that keeps falling down as of late, leaving wet towels on the floor on occasion to their mutual frustration, their bodies preoccupied with tacit evening rituals.

There’s a lull to the way his eyes track over her as they stand side by side, each facing a mirror. She’s never been able to turn off that part of her that knows—it just _knows_ where his eyes are. The almost green tiles between the sinks glitter, the black hairs his razor left behind on his sink sharply contrasting the immaculate white he’s scrubbed it to. It’s the mundane backdrop to Beth’s wondering what he sees when he looks at her, when he looks at the pair of them in their twin mirrors. 

Does he still see his best friend? Does he trust what he sees? Does being near her have the same fickle taste seeing him leaves in her mouth?

The silence stings. She’s tired of begging him—asking him to do her the favor of facing the fight they had. She’s tired of his indifference towards her. She wants his investment in the mending. Wants him to want it. Amends.

Above all, she’s tired of disappointing herself.

The thought’s been with her when she got dressed this morning, sticking to her skin like her jeans. She’s tired of disappointing Rio, too, but that’s just a quiet hum to the more obvious buzz of flattened expectations, hollow desires, gaping hope she’s made a home of.

The disappointment tastes different, this time, in the quiet rigidity of this moment. Maybe because she recognizes what keeps it afloat. This time the yearning itself is the loud kind that comes from something that’s been swelling on for years, calling for attention each day with frantic cries only to be pushed aside, or downwards—only to resurface the next day with more desperation and an ever aching need to get noticed by her.

There’s the bait—him, physically close, but that’s as far as it goes—and there’s the searching, tracking, digging. Which is where she finds what she’s been pushing aside so persistently, only to find it naked and unashamed in its neediness, staring right at her in the mirror. 

The want—scorching need, more like it—to be loved. To love. Fully, out in the sun, not some squished away thing, poking through with heat and vengeance. 

She wants to love him out loud so badly. She wants to show him what he means to her, wants to make him feel like she could be a home, a future. She wants him, possessive with love, with truth, standing next to each other by the sink like this at the end of each day, in a silence that breathes comfort instead of friction. She wants to press into his skin, let the thoughts lingering at night get their physical form. She wants him to let her ease his hurt, ignite his laughter, make him giddy to come home to her. The way she used to feel when he did—come home to her, fully present.

The thought bites. She misses him— _that_ —the way they used to be together—so dearly. She should’ve listened to her mother when she told her time and again, “you get what you get and you don’t get upset.” Should’ve really heard what she was saying. 

Look at her now, so miserably alone, standing next to her best friend who no longer trusts her enough to fight with her. Or talk to her with honesty. 

Instead of making peace with what she had and loving him like a friend, she had to be greedy with it. Had to ruin it for herself—for them both, so messily unable to address the obvious. 

_What if she loses him?_

Rio spits in his sink, interrupting her most painful of thoughts, puts his toothbrush back where it belongs, and nods at her.

“Night.”

“Good night,” she replies, watching him walk away from her and her rowdy mind, leaving her amidst the abundance of hurt, wishing he’d have spared her the extra syllable this time.

If only he could give her something—some guarantee that he’ll show up, that he’ll stay. Be patient for her. Give her the opportunity to come back to him the way she used to. She doesn’t know what it’s gotta take at this point. 

There’s only one piece of her she’s has left to give—her desperate wish to keep her friend. But it’s twisted into something he can no longer see.

\--

Her and Thanh end with a t-shirt. That ratty, baby-puke colored thing she nicked from Rio’s closet. At least, that’s how they end in her mind—she still has to inform him of this.

Beth’s not sure why but the tears are uncontrollable, starting the moment the door closed behind Thanh and showing no signs of stopping. She managed to keep a smile on her face as she kissed him quickly on the lips, feeling the water droplets drip from his just-showered hair as he deepened it a little, slipping a tongue inside her mouth, leaving with a promise to call her later that she wishes he hadn’t made.

As soon as he’s gone though, she’s running back to her room while the tears stream down her face to yank the t-shirt from the laundry basket he had dropped it into before his shower. She thanks her lucky stars that Rio isn’t home to watch her fall apart when she discovers what she suspected, her nose pressed into the shirt only to smell Thanh’s cologne instead of the vague but distinctive hints of something so _Rio_ that were stitched into the shirt, enveloping her any time she put it on.

It makes no sense, she knows, but she feels like she’s been holding her breath since Thanh reemerged from her bedroom last night in the old baseball tee after spilling wine on his shirt, saying it was the first thing he could find in her closet that could fit his shoulders.

She hadn’t said anything, instead had focused on using all tricks in the book to make sure the wine stains would be gone from his shirt by the morning. She was aware of the questioning looks Thanh sent her way at her being unusually quiet for the rest of the evening, but he didn’t mention it, so she thought he let it go as they finished their late dinner. 

Of course, Thanh being as perceptive as he is, he’d whispered in her hair when they were in bed together, telling her to take her time, that she didn’t have to tell him what was bothering her but that she should talk to someone about it. And then, when she rolled over to distract him, moving a hand to his groin, he had placed his hands over hers, pressed a sweet kiss to her shoulder, and told her to go to sleep.

There are only two things Beth knows for sure as she’s kneeling on the floor next to her laundry basket, Rio’s shirt clutched in her hands, head filled with clarity so surprising she’s taken aback: she has to end things with Thanh. And, against her most persistent, most prized hope: her feelings for Rio haven’t cooled in the slightest. If there is anything her current position illustrates, with the warmth of spring she is left thirsting for more.

\--

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”

Lackluster is set deep in her bones, fills her words. She clocks her own expression in the floor-to-ceiling windows, the nighttime leaving her body to not much more than a shimmer.

Thanh swallows. She watches his throat bob, his shoulders tense.

“I’m not—I think I’m not ready to be in a relationship,” she adds, voice soft. “I don’t think I’m cut out for it. I don’t know how to do this stuff.” 

There. She told him what she’s been thinking ever since the pale yellow of Rio’s baseball tee she stole stretched around his biceps. Or—before, even. Somewhere between Rio convincing her painting furniture makes one a boyfriend, despite admitting he’d help her do it, and Thanh so sweetly prepping a three-course meal in her own kitchen.

She didn’t think it through, not properly. The hurt she’d do to another, when she agreed to go on a date, despite knowing she wasn’t ready for it. She’d just risked it all in an attempt to course correct her treacherous heart.

There’s a hand on her knee. Thanh squeezes.

She looks up.

“Beth.”

A flush on her cheeks, she can’t bear to meet his eyes for long. How can she, with what she just told him? With what she did to him, blatant in her knowledge of the love she held for another, all the while selfishly warming his sheets?

He repeats her name, forcing her eyes up again. Shakes his head, a frustration quaking but present in the set of his brow.

“You know that’s not true, right?”

She scoffs with half-heartedness. “How do you know that?”

“I know you.”

_Does he?_

“I think you are capable of having a relationship. I think it may just not be with me.” He sighs, half-laughs. “Look. I don’t mean to pry, but—I don’t think you’re not ready for it. I think maybe you tell yourself that, because it’s easier to go along with that story than the actual story, right?”

“The actual story?”

Thanh gives her a smile.

“Yes. I think people do that all the time, don’t you? Tell ourselves the easier version of what’s happening?”

His words make her think. Is it easier, to state over and over that she’s not cut out for relationships? Easier to convince herself and anyone who’ll listen that she has no interest in them? Easier than acknowledging that maybe she _does_ want that—somebody to come home to, to curl up with, to trust with her urge to run—just doesn’t have the guts to do something in pursuit of that?

“I just hope that you’ll find someone who can give you what you need.”

God. Why couldn’t it be him she’s in love with? The tears straining her eyes claw at the surface.

“I know it isn’t me who can give you that. I think I have known for a while now, but I’ve gotten a little selfish with you. Wanted to keep you,” he admits.

It’s ridiculous. Him, selfish? If only he saw the true depths of her egotistic ways.

“Thanh—” she starts, but he waves a hand.

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t wanna be with somebody who doesn’t wanna be with me. I want what’s best for both of us, and I think we can both admit that’s not pursuing this.”

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. He just smiles.

Dazed, she lets her eyes track over the apartment, the glossy surface of Thanh’s coffee table, the massive bookcase housing mostly cookbooks and sci-fi novels, the different, obviously cared for plants stationed all around the living room.

“Now what?”

“Now you hug me goodbye, go to your neighbor’s party and spend the night dancing with your friends, and hopefully, sooner rather than later, come to realize you are worthy of love and give yourself a chance to find out what that looks like,” he answers calmly, summing up her most profound personal struggle like it’s merely the next thing on the to do list. Which—maybe it should it be just that.

But, wait. Stan’s birthday party is tonight? She completely forgot—leave it to Thanh to remember her bemused recounting of Stan’s invitation, specifically his attempt to subtly invite Ruby. She knows he thought he slid that in smoothly, mentioning her pretty friend she met at the café, but that man can’t hide his emotions to save his life.

So she invited Ruby, because if there’s one man she’ll let shoot his shot with her best friend, it’s Stan. She’s pretty sure he is the only person who can rival Ruby’s good heart. 

Well. Him and the man she’s currently breaking up with.

Beth sinks into Thanh’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna miss your dog,” she sighs. He starts laughing.

“Thank you,” she adds in a softer voice. Thanh squeezes her hand.

“Anytime.”

\--

Beth comes home with sore feet and a heart that possibly hurts even more. Her throat has an ache to it, like Thanh’s words got stuck down there.

The actual story, he called it. What, her desire to be loved? Her pulsing love for a man who barely speaks to her anymore? What is she supposed to make of that?

She finds Rio in the living room, just as he leaves his bedroom. His shoulders tense when he sees her, stopping a few feet away from his room, leaving the door gaping wide as if to keep an escape route in place. His face is carefully blank.

Beth swallows. How can she give herself a chance to see what love looks like, when love looks at her like _that_?

“‘Ey,” he greets her coolly.

The temperature is enough to make her snap—suddenly, loudly. It’s too much, all of a sudden, his coldness, his distance, his stubborn behavior. Who does he think he is, shutting her out like this at every turn? Like they’ve got nothing—no years of friendship to show for, no deep knowledge of the other person’s habits and ways, no complicated past to dare to fight for?

She’s fed up with saving all the love she has for someone who won’t even _talk_ to her.

“Rio,” she demands, wanting his eyes on hers, instead of flittering about like he can’t stand to look at her anymore.

There’s a barely-there shifting up of lips at her tone, her urging. Hope rises inside of her, despite knowing it’s built on wonky signals, shivering gestures, nothing solid, not really. Like waves lapping at bare ankles, retreating only to return with full determination in an endless cycle—and the tide turns, sometimes swaying yes and possibility, sometimes hushing and ache. The way he rolls his neck pushes her to see the tide rising again, despite— _despite_.

“Elizabeth,” he replies, facing her, the line of his shoulders taut, his look expectant, his big hands clasped in front of him.

It’s too much and it’s not enough for her. So she kisses him.

__Rushes towards him, grabs his shoulders, plants her lips firmly on his, all with an angry need too loud to contain—and then she finally learns how soft his lips are._ _

__Which—no, not like this. She can’t—doesn’t want it like this, with her angry, with him cold. Doesn’t want to learn the taste of his mouth with his body still, haltering her movements with it like she sticks to the floor. Like her body only now registers that barreling straight into him without the slightest head’s up may have been overdoing it._ _

__She pulls back, eyes wide with regret._ _

__Meets his, blown, and burning fiercely._ _

__He rushes towards her, gets his massive hands in her neck before greedily cradling her face with both, pulling her towards him, kissing her with breathtaking ease, the need showing from all sides._ _

She can’t—doesn’t know how— _God_ , she can only sigh against his mouth all pleased and kiss him back, over and over. Can only shift closer to him and ask for more, because how can she not, with his lips hot and insistent like this?

__He tastes like relief. The bone-deep kind, the sort that settles into skin with warmth. It’s like now that they’re touching, their bodies pushing against each other, he’s ready to unleash everything he held back from her in his indifference—and she finally gets her chance to show him how much she wants him, really wants him._ _

__He presses a soft closemouthed kiss against her lips, moving slowly against her, and she leans into it a little more. He takes her top lip in his mouth and sucks, his pouty bottom lip all hers to suck into her mouth in return. That gives her a groan, and then he’s kissing her harder, faster, easing his tongue inside her mouth._ _

__His lips pulsing against hers, her hands holding onto him like that’s the only way she knows how to stand anymore, tethered to him, her own lips swollen with the storm he set loose on her. There’s a burying—his fingers in her hair, his soul in her heart, again, again, the soil of their friendship lavish and fertile, brimming with space for him, for them, for this._ _

__Until—a knock. A graverobber on the move, stationed outside their door, poised to strike._ _

__They pull apart—but only slightly, heat in her cheeks, his lips wet, chests still pressed together, his fingers still threading her hair._ _

__“Rio,” she breathes._ _

__“It’s Aria,” Rio whispers. “She’s here for Stan’s party.”_ _

__Cold fingers tugging heavy bones up, and up, and up, into sunlight she wishes to ignore. The prying need to rush away captures her with alarming intensity._ _

__They untangle with shy movements, both still catching their breaths._ _

The light stripes the floor in particular ways—dancing carefully within the lines of the windows, pitter-patter of shadows tracking all over. It’s all she can do not to let her eyes waver from the view, not let her eyes stray up, up, to his, so ripe with brightness she can’t—can’t _think_ , can’t process, can only hope they make it through whatever is about to leave his lips in one piece. Two pieces. His, likely steady, the way he always is, so unlike hers, shaken, full of— _full_.

__“We need to talk.”_ _

__There—the fullness, the stirring, everything she can’t take._ _

__She feels her lips tremble—pulsing, still, from his thorough kisses—like her whole body does, already recounting the exact feeling of his warm hands in her hair while spinning, pulling her, making her see the harrowing regret in his words._ _

__“This was a mistake,” she says before he can, in a vain attempt to cushion the hurt, the blow, the harsh, stumbling combination of wanting him and wanting to keep her heart functional. His eyes flash with a similar fighting mix of emotions, teetering everywhere, dripping from the expanse of his beautiful face._ _

__She looks at the floor. Notices there’s a spill of water—probably Rio’s doing, watering the plant that sits on their makeshift side table, the books they never read. Feels his eyes on her. Doesn’t know what would greet her, should she find the guts to look._ _

__The fist on the other side of the door repeats its gesture, beckoning Rio into movement, finally, after being pinned to place. He gets closer to the door with languid movements and eyes still stuck to hers with fight, until he flings his body around, lets Aria inside._ _

__Beth closes her eyes. Doesn’t wanna see her just yet. Doesn’t want to see anything if it’s not the sight of Rio’s face before he kisses her. Just wants to concentrate on the memory of his trembling lips, his hot mouth, his hands holding her tight._ _

By the time she opens her eyes, she isn’t fully ready to face him just yet, or face _her_ , because she still doesn’t know how to look at Aria’s soft legs and not think about them wrapped around Rio’s waist. Doesn’t know how she’s supposed to look Aria in the eye after what she just did, either.

__To get a taste of heaven, only for it to be tugged away in a moment’s notice, ripped from her, to be tucked away with all the mistakes made between the two of them—the cruelty of the universe can’t go unnoticed. Can’t go unlamented, either._ _

__She needs to find Ruby. Needs someone, anyone, to tell her yes, cruel, yes, but don’t let it stick to your fingers, heartstrings, lungs. Breathe elsewhere._ _

__Beth exhales. She needs to get out of here._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi :) :) :)  
> bye :) :) :)


	13. (xiii.) COLD HEAVY HEAT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which somebody exposes a nerve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna say welcome to my first attempt at rio pov but then i realized i just wrote a whole fic from rio’s grocery store managing perspective so NEVER MIND  
> anyway this picks up from the moment beth comes home from thanh’s place :) :) :) enjoy

_i was only falling in love / coming from the cold / buried under heat / lay you on the floor / heavy like the force between us_ (RY X – Only)

The sound of the front door opening and closing has him up on his feet and bouncing towards the living room, eager to see Elizabeth, despite not knowing what to do with her anymore. He slows his pace when he remembers who she’s coming home from.

There’s no need to get ahead of himself. He better tamper his gushing need to just be around her. It’s not like she’s about to reciprocate his excitement.

So he schools his features into something unreadable, right before he leaves his bedroom.

Elizabeth’s eyes meet his, making him pause. The exasperating beauty of her eyes never fails to make him lose his control, just a little. Like he has to stop and stare every time she looks at him—angry and hurt, lately, but he remembers the warmth that preceded their recent situation.

He’s been thinking about this relationship of theirs. Can’t stop mulling over the words she spat at him so unkindly, so venomously. About her not needing him. It left him with something vacant, a taste of hollowness. 

Anytime he thinks he’s out of dodge she brings the salt—and he willingly bares his wounds to her.

But if she doesn’t need him, fine, he’ll show her just how much he doesn’t need her either.

“Ey.” 

Oh, she doesn’t like that. He can tell. He sees the big frown coming onto her face, the fists clenching—her anger is reignited and ready to spark.

“Rio.”

His name on her lips tastes like a challenge on a good day. Right now it sizzles. He can’t fully suppress a smile. 

_Brat_.

“Elizabeth,” he indulges, swinging his body until he’s found a position solid enough to leap from, should she come clawing at him again. 

He clasps his hands in front of him, meeting her eyes. Frustration spills from her face, making him nearly give her more ammo by laughing at her, something he knows she won’t take well. She’s never appreciated his ability to laugh in the face of her protests, let alone now that they’re firmly embedded in the depths of their recent friction.

He’s pretty sure he’s gonna lose his resolve, the petulance on her features palpable, when suddenly two small hands dig into his shoulders and lush lips press to his with insistence.

She kisses him. 

_Elizabeth_. Elizabeth kisses him.

He can’t move—can’t think, not with her up close, her scent overwhelming him, her soft body pressed into him—when she’s already pulling back, jerking to a halt.

And just like that, he’s done. Finished. Can no longer find it in him to keep it up, his carefully crafted indifference, the control he tried to grasp so eagerly. No point guarding it from her any longer, not with those wild, wide eyes peering up at him like he can give her something, here, now. 

So he hurries, knows full well he better be right quick, too, before her mind starts spinning stories about him not wanting it. He palms her neck, her face, using both hands, because it’s _her_ , and tugs her close, closer, ‘till he’s got her where he wants her, throwing everything he’s got into the kiss he plants firmly on her lips. 

He eases his haste, settled now that he’s touching her, like something in his skin needed to feel her before he could take a breath. She sighs softly against his mouth and chases him, again, again. He slows his kisses until she’s pushing closer, like she would crawl on top of him if he would only ask.

He sucks her lip into his mouth, groaning when she returns the gesture in kind before nibbling on his bottom lip. He’s not even sure she notices, she just gnaws at his lips like the hunger he feels resides in her as well. He tongues inside her mouth, wanting more, getting more, getting her clinging to him, grabbing at him. 

She kisses him so hard he loses his breath. 

(He doesn’t care. She can have it.)

He buries his fingers in her hair, because now that he’s got his hands on her, he wants all of her, wants to kiss her for days, wants to get her in his lap, wants to let his fingers roam, find all of her, wants to feel her body heat and hear the echoes of her panting in his mind when he closes his eyes to go to sleep. 

He feels her teeth on his bottom lip again, making him smile, when a knock interrupts the quest her fangs set out for.

They pull back, somewhat—he’s still got his fingers tangled in her hair, can’t stop letting his eyes roam all over the blush on her cheeks, the heaving of her chest.

She calls his name.

“It’s Aria. She’s here for Stan’s party,” he says in a hush, cursing Stan’s insistence he “bring his girl”, and fuck, he doesn’t even know how Stan knows about Aria. Though—he wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Karpinski to keep track of who’s coming in and out of their apartment.

Cursing Aria’s rotten timing, and not for the first time either, he slowly untangles his hands from Elizabeth’s hair, his heart beating fast.

She can’t meet his eyes. He can’t look away from her.

He vows in the quiet, looking at her soft face, its angelic blush, the puffy lips—he’ll come back for her. Realizes silence doesn’t always work in their favor, so he opens his mouth.

“We need to talk,” he urges, knowing they won’t make it out of this without words.

He’ll always gravitate towards her, anyway. In pain, in joy—it’s her he’s all tangled up with, for better or for worse.

He knows she’s there, in his future. In his arms, preferably. Knows it won’t be long before he’s on his knees for her, any way he can think of. Any way she’ll let him. 

“This was a mistake.”

The words hit like direct punch to esophagus. Fuck, did he just completely misread what happened here? Did she not just kiss him with her mouth open, sink her teeth into him, let him touch her? 

She can barely look at him.

Shit.

She really just kissed him like _that_ only to call it a mistake? The audacity, to take back a kiss like that. He still feels the indents from her teeth on his lips. What’s she gonna do? Start yapping about that not-boyfriend of hers? Go running back to him? 

Aria knocks again. He goes to let her in, because what’s the alternative?

He keeps looking at Elizabeth, though. She won’t meet his eyes.

He sighs. The problem always starts when she looks him in the eye. But shit, it blows up in both their faces when she doesn’t.

“Beth is amazing,” Aria gushes, voice high, excited after what was probably another heartfelt conversation with his roommate. She’s buzzing with energy the way she always does—eyes wide but shoulders slack, taking in the expanse of Stan’s bachelor pad, her attention glittering over the thrums of people all stacked inside, draped over furniture, pressed against open windows, the surprising heat of spring rolling inside.

He barely has the mind to regret bringing her, can’t say he doesn’t appreciate Aria’s buffering abilities. It’s why he brought her to tequila night. Why he brought her home on more than one occasion, too, sometimes to find the apartment distinctly empty. 

It’s different, those times. He’s less on edge when Elizabeth isn’t there—something he’s got no doubt Aria has noticed, especially considering those stacks of detective novels strewn around her place. ‘Sides, she’s always had a penchant for involving herself in other people’s business. He’s heard plenty of stories about her sister’s marriage and Aria’s somewhat lacking mediating skills.

Regrets—not agreeing to hang out with her, not the sex or the talking, not the listening to her complain about having to call her mother but picking up the phone anyway—but just how quickly she got under his skin, and how blasé she was about the matter. About all matters, really, like her educated guesses about his tumultuous heart, his traitorous mind.

Because yeah, he’s a goner, just as much tonight with the taste of Elizabeth’s lips still sticking to him as two, three years ago, shuffling his cousin’s leather couch into the apartment together, being taken in fully at the sound of her giggling at some stupid fucking story he was telling about work.

“She can be a little self-involved,” he grunts. Aria grins.

“But you like her anyway.”

_But I like her anyway_ , he admits to himself, a sigh dotting his thoughts. Wonders when that not-boyfriend of hers will show face. Feels relief at Aria’s presence, can’t be having him and Elizabeth in one space without someone to distract him, lest his brain starts spitting images of the two of them together. 

Again.

Shit, it’s worse now that he’s seen him in person, too. Thanh. Can’t look at him and not picture Elizabeth in his arms, in his bed. It’s hard to miss the irony, right? That he’d been the one to swipe right on this guy, just to mess with her, only to have him be the one to break Elizabeth’s disinterest in dating? Only to have him be the one she runs off to the minute he tells her how he feels about her self-centeredness and her little habit of loudly fucking anybody but him?

“Does she know?”

His eyes flutter away, automatically floating towards Elizabeth. 

There’s no one like her, not for him. No one like the woman whose hands are currently gesturing empathetically at Ruby, the two of them in their little bubble. He hasn’t seen her relaxed like this in a while, he realizes, taking in her easy stance, her delighted laughter that makes the corners of his lips tug up involuntarily—except maybe when he had his hands in her hair, his tongue inside her mouth. Yeah, she was sweetly mellow in his arms, comfortably pliable ‘till Aria showed. 

She’s curling her hair behind her ear, a gesture too small to explain why it elicits so much in him, makes him wanna push through the crowd, replace her touch with his. Makes him wanna kiss her again, and again, and again, until she gets all breathy and flustered the way she did before. Until he can kiss his way down her throat, suck a hickey if he feels like it (he’ll always feel like it). He wants to mark her a little. Mark her a lot. Make her his. Get twin hickeys on his own throat, let her show everybody he’s hers, too. 

Because he is. In all ways, he is.

He feels like one of those pesky little fruit flies committed to drifting inside Aria’s glass of Chardonnay, trying again and again to submerge in a heavenly death. That’s him, sights on Elizabeth at every turn, ready to crowd towards her again and again and again, go and beg for a kiss, for a touch, ‘till he’s dead in the wine, signing a new lease, searching for a new best friend. Could feel himself drifting, slinging around in the juice the morning he woke up to her in his bed, all bare legs, looking like a fucking angel. Flinging downwards anytime he’d had to sit through Elizabeth gushing about Thanh’s cooking. Sinking to the bottom when he came home to find that fucker in his kitchen, making _his_ girl food, while he still gets ribbed for burning pasta. 

He blinks. It’s been a while since he’s let those thoughts go unrestrained, zinging through his mind with an intensity that’s hard to ignore. 

It takes him a moment to realize his eyes never made it back to Aria’s, but hers have a look to them that’s—okay. Yeah. There’s gonna be trouble. He can tell from the head tilt. It’s no knock on the door, but it’s close, teething at the obvious, just like it was when he let her inside the apartment—his lips too swollen from Elizabeth’s utter need to devour him, his smile too persistent to successfully keep off his face, his giddiness too lively to mask entirely for her not to take notice. 

Aria’s not the jealous type, he knows for a fact. Knows she’s not about to scold him for looking. Or kissing—remembers vividly her shining eyes, the approval he found there after he shuffled her inside his bedroom, trying to get away from Elizabeth so he’d have a shot at getting his head straight—only to hear their front door slam shut a moment later. He’s heard Aria rant about the intricacies of polygamy and jealousy on more than one occasion, knows exactly how she feels about this kinda stuff. Still, there’s something resolute in her smile that has him tilting his own head in question.

“What’s up?” He’s already forgotten what she was saying before.

Aria scoffs. Bumps her hip against his—or, tries to, quite hilariously, in all her five-foot-two glory. Hits his thighs, mostly.

“Does she know you’re in love with her?”

He doesn’t choke on his own spit, but it’s a near-feat. Apparently a crowded birthday party is where Aria feels it’s best to confront him with his fucking tragic flame of love, not the privacy of his bedroom where he expected it. He clears his throat. 

“Where’d you get that from?”

The look she sends him has him regretting playing dumb.

“Oh, I’ll tell you where I got that from,” she starts, clearly gearing up to rip him a new one. “I got all that from how you talk about her, how you look at her, how you act when she’s near. It’s hard to miss. Don’t know how she manages.”

He works his jaw.

“Like I said. She’s self-involved.”

Aria gives him a smile he recognizes, the one she also sends the nephews she watches every other Wednesday—dutifully patient, fully in the know.

“Okay, so go tell her that—and then make her notice.”

His throat bobs, sits all wrong, like his insides are twisted, ready to ensnare and betray him. Her eyes ease, grow kinder.

“You make it sound so easy.” 

It’s not. It can’t be. Elizabeth isn’t easy. The two of them together, in any capacity? Easy is never gonna be the word for it. 

(Only easy in the sense that he knows beyond a doubt that she’s the woman he wants to come home to. Only easy in that she makes him feel like he can exhale without having to worry where his next fill of oxygen is coming from. Only easy in that he’ll always want her, no matter distance, silence, or fight.) 

“Tell me—does she know we’re not exclusive?” Aria’s voice lowers, a near-waggle to her brows, a naked smirk flashing across her face.

“What’s it matter?”

She openly laughs now.

“You know why it matters. And I think I know the answer. Boy, you are stupid. Why would you let a girl like that get away?”

“Get away? She’s not goin’ anywhere,” he huffs. “’Sides, she’s not mine to get, anyway.”

He looks around Stan’s apartment, trying to see if her not-boyfriend showed up yet.

“Man, If I had a shot at her, I wouldn’t even be here right now, you realize that, right? I would’ve made sure she’d be in my bed by now. In fact, I’m kinda pissed at you for wasting this. Do you have any idea how amazing she is? Any idea how quickly I’d take your place if I thought I stood a chance?” Aria sighs. “You two are obviously perfect for each other.”

“She doesn’t want a boyfriend, she’s made that pretty clear,” he counters, because she has. How many fucking times did he have to sit and listen to her list all the reasons she wasn’t ready for it? All the reasons she didn’t want him like that? 

He can read between the lines. Knows what it means when someone insists they’re not interested in dating, only to start playing happy couple with the first suitable match to cross their path. He can take a hint.

“She wants you, though. To be hers,” Aria insists.

“What makes you so sure,” he asks, humoring her, eyes on Stan’s emerald carpet. 

Fuck, he never realized how wrong that is. Emerald carpet? He needs to have a word with Stan.

“The way you’re looking at the floor right now, unable to meet my eyes, because when you do I’ll see just how much you love her? Yeah, she’s got that look down to a pat. It’s obvious to anyone who sees the two of you.”

Okay, maybe he also needs to have a word with Elizabeth. But—

“She’s dating Thanh. I can’t just swoop in now and try and start something with her. It would be too soon.”

She laughs. Pats his shoulders. Sinks her nails into his skin—lime green, same color as the walls of her bedroom.

“What are you talking about, starting something? You already _have_ something. You’ve known each other for years, built something for years. And, too soon? Come on, man. That just makes me violent.”

His eyes glide back to Elizabeth, who's got hers aimed at him now, staring at him from all the way across the room. Or—not at him. It’s the lime green nails digging into his skin and the woman doing the digging she’s focused on. He places his hand over Aria’s, gently peels her hand away from his shoulder. Meets Elizabeth’s baby blues. Something erupts—something guilty but content—on her face. In his chest, too.

“Right,” he says, dragging out the word as he works his jaw, letting Aria’s words and Elizabeth’s look sink in.

After a minute—in which Elizabeth has made her way to Stan's kitchen—he faces Aria, trying to figure out how to say what he’s gotta say now, when she already waves a hand.

“It’s fine, dude. It’s been swell. Onto merrier days.” She clinks her glass against his with a smile. “You two assholes better invite me to the wedding, because you already know my toast is gonna be better than anyone else’s. Oh, and I wanna come to tequila night some time, if that’s okay. This time without all those longing glances, please. You know period dramas are not my style.”

He laughs, relieved to find Aria’s easy-going nature doesn’t waver mid-break-up. 

“Thanks, darlin’. You’ll be okay?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Besides, I just spotted a very hot-looking babe with amazing purple eyeshadow and I’ve gotta find out what her name is.”

He frowns, vaguely recalling seeing Beth’s co-worker strut around in her familiar get-up.

“Dana?”

Aria brightens.

“Sure. Dana. I’m gonna go talk to her,” she says, jerking her hand over her shoulder, gesturing towards the hallway, where, like he suspected, Dana is fixing one of her small hoop earrings in the mirror. He nods at her and they break apart without a word, each moving in the direction of their respective fixations. 

He’s not sure with what aim he just strutted towards Elizabeth—doesn’t have a plan, only figures they should talk come morning—just knows he feels the pull, like so many times before. Enthralled by her at every turn.

She’s no siren, he’s no naïve sailor distracted from an ocean of hidden dangers, but there are times where the compulsion to be near her feels just as stupid good. So alluring, making him downright needy, which, of course, has him overcompensating by any means necessary. He cringes thinking about taking Aria home just so he could survive watching New Girl with Elizabeth. Hates he could feel how much that hurt her, how much that was the wrong move, effective as it was in creating a safe distance between them.

But he doesn’t want distance, safe or otherwise. Would rather risk the danger their proximity sparks, even if it leaves him bleeding a little.

He takes no pride in his cowardice, but shit, he doesn’t know what else he could’ve done. She’s got him backed into a corner, yelling about not wanting to be in a relationship while he wants nothing more to be with her like that. Then she kisses him— _kisses him_ —and goes running off again. What is he supposed to make of that?

Nobody frustrates him like Elizabeth. She’s the single most infuriating presence in his life.

He leans against the doorframe, lets his eyes glide over Elizabeth as she sips her drink, sitting across from Ruby on one of Stan’s kitchen chairs, her back to him. Clocks how Stan’s been hovering near the pair of them, shuffling onto the chair chucked next to Ruby at last, clearly trying to find the right time to make his move. Can’t say he blames the guy for not knowing how to interrupt the intensely devoted connection the two share—he’s been in his shoes a number of times, acutely aware he’s doing his own hovering behind Elizabeth right now, be it somewhat hidden from view.

“—so we ended things.” 

He freezes. Is she—

She can’t be, right? His luck isn’t like that. 

Still, he tries to gauge from Ruby’s look if maybe she is talking about her and Thanh—can’t begin to think about the implications of that, can’t let himself muse on her reasoning behind their break-up—when Stan, one hand fiddling with the label of his beer bottle, another spread on his thigh, maybe in a vain attempt to mask the twitch in his leg that he definitely has some questions about, looks up and makes his grand entrance into the conversation.

“Hold up, hold up, hold up—you guys broke up?”

Elizabeth nods. Which—shit, when did that happen? Why didn’t she say anything?

“You’re living with your ex?” Stan asks, eyes comically large.

_Wait, what?_

“Wait, what? What are you talking about?” Elizabeth is clearly as stunned as he is by Stan’s question. 

“Wait a minute. Stanley, don’t tell me you thought me and Rio were a couple?” she asks, before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

He hates it when she does that. Gets him all… wanting his hands on her, cradle her face, so she can laugh like that again, and he can catch it all. And then kiss her, preferably. He feels robbed anytime it’s aimed at somebody else, that she’s not looking at him right now.

“You’re not?” Stan’s voice is all squeaky, and appropriately so, because what the fuck? 

“Wait, who _is_ this guy?” Ruby looks him up and down, squinting her eyes.

“This is Stan, the guy whose birthday we’re celebrating. And whose chili you’ve been eating,” Elizabeth explains, waving a hand. Ruby perks up at that.

“Oh. You. Happy birthday. You need to chill with the cayenne.”

Stan scratches behind his ear. “Noted.”

“I understand you’re the one who’s been keeping my best friend alive by bringing her food?” Ruby asks with a smile on her face.

Stan laughs. “I don’t think I can take credit for that. Pretty sure Rio does a much better job of making sure she’s alive and kicking. But, seriously, Beth. Are you sure you’re not dating?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Elizabeth laughs. 

Rio locks his jaw, body tensing up.

Is the thought that crazy to her? 

“If I’d be dating Rio I would know,” she adds, voice soft.

Oh.

_Oh_.

She smooths a hand over her hair and he twitches. Needs to—has to— _fuck_. Why does she keep doing that? And why does she sound like she _wants_ — 

“I honestly can’t believe this,” she adds, nervous laughter simmering around her words. “All this time? Stan, we’ve been neighbors for years! How could you not know this?”

“But you guys are always all wrapped up in each other? You sit in his lap when we watch the game together. I’ve seen him rub your feet on multiple occasions. You fight like you’re married. I mean, he talks about you like—”

“You sit in his lap?” Ruby interjects, judgement dripping from her words, her face, and he can’t thank her enough for it, sure as shit isn’t ready to hear what Stan was about to say.

“Yes. What’s your point?”

“You can’t be serious, B. You sit in that man’s lap— _regularly_ , might I add—and you still wonder why he’s been moping lately?”

“Well. Yeah? That doesn’t mean anything?” She clears her throat. “I mean. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything to him.”

He swears he’s never felt his heart pound the way it does right now. The reminder of that—the way she settles in his lap whenever they watch the game together, the way he’s missed getting to touch her like that—and the _feeling_ in her voice, like… Like she wants it mean something to him? Shit. 

“Oh, honey,” Ruby replies with a tilt to her head, before looking over Elizabeth’s shoulder and meeting his eyes with a pointed look.

Shit.

The utter lack of surprise in Ruby’s eyes confirms that she’s been aware of his presence, which… _Shit._

Ruby empathetically raises her eyebrows at him, jerking her head towards Elizabeth in an obvious attempt to get him to—well. What exactly she wants him to do, he’s not sure of. Especially considering the setting.

Which worsens dramatically when somebody barges into him in an attempt to get through the doorway, and he realizes that someone is Aria. Aria, who’s giggling uncontrollably, clutching Dana’s arm, no doubt on the hunt for more booze.

Completely at a loss as to what to do with the information he just learned or how to handle the chaos that is about to unfold, he takes a page out of Elizabeth’s book and runs.

Or, well. Starts mingling with Stan’s guests. Gets into a competitive game of chess with Mrs. Karpinski. Lets her win so she’ll stop nagging him about setting off the fire alarm that one time. Can’t find it in him to wonder why on earth Stan invited her or why there’s a chessboard in the first place. Fixes himself another drink, because surely that will help things. Almost gets into a fight with a guy called Jimmy. Tries not to look around for Elizabeth too much. Gets lured into another game of chess, this time by a girl called Diane. Loses. Tries to figure out what to say to Elizabeth, how to tell her… anything, really. Tries to ignore the fact he’s wandering around Stan’s apartment like a lost puppy. Catches his own reflection in the surface of Stan’s TV and realizes he looks like one, too. Watches Elizabeth leave the kitchen. Holds his breath.

There’s a moment where her eyes meet his—finally, every part of him saying _look at me, look at me, Elizabeth_ satisfied at last—and he finds what he’s tasted on her lips. Something that settles with finality and barely contained pleasure—a hope wet with urgency, slippery in his hands. Ready to grasp, grab, let it simmer, but press, firmly, into her side. 

It’s that demanding hope pounding inside of him that makes him step closer to her, almost uncontrollably so, like the twitch to her tired eyes after work, or the tremor to her voice when she told him kissing him was a mistake. 

He breathes through his nose. Glances at the carpet, quickly, looking away from the offending emerald only to find Elizabeth turning around, swiftly, rushing out of Stan’s apartment without so much as a nod goodbye to the birthday boy.

It’s that same hope that makes him swim through the crowd in pursuit of her. Always her.

He slips out of Stan’s apartment, makes his way over to his own front door. Takes a deep breath, steadying himself in the water, the gamble, the heat. Pushes the door open to find her with eyes wide, gulping a breath of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nobody talk to me, i am riding my chili cupid high.  
> im dedicating this chapter to all the women (yes, plural) ive met who still lived with their ex. i hope ur all doing great and thriving, wherever you are in the world. and i sincerely hope it’s somewhere your ex doesn’t live
> 
> thank you foxmagpie for your input on this chapter. thank you medievalraven for your support and help and letting me vent about writing this. and thank you to everybody who read and commented on this fic! it really, really means a lot, i can't even express how much!!!!! i cant believe the end is near


	14. (xiv.) COULD NEVER MAKE YOU LOVE ME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which someone follows someone home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very big thank you to medievalraven for keeping me company while i slowly lost my entire mind in the writing of this chapter. your advice once again kept me afloat, tysm

_i could never make you love me_ (SEVDALIZA – Hero)

He’s here. 

Rio. 

He followed her home. 

They stand unmovably in their dark hallway, neither of them having the wits to turn on the light.

“Rio,” she asks, at a loss for what the intense glimmering of his eyes means.

He just looks at her. He looks at her with that big, overwhelming focus, laying her in his attention with no mercy, like he’s got her in his arms, carrying her to his bed like he did some time ago, some hurts ago. Keeps pulling her in with it, pinning her to place, eyes sticking to his. 

He nods to himself—a businesslike gesture, almost clinical.

Then he brings his big hands to her face, cradles her jaw, and tugs her closer, pressing his lips to hers.

The first touch of his tongue makes her stutter on a breath, panting into his mouth with a near-hiccup, taking him in. His lips like candlelight, a soft pulse, fiery against hers, make her shift closer to him.

They stumble into each other, breaths in staggers, chests heaving, lips meeting in an easy lick of tide, heavy cold heat of storm. They move with haltering jerks of limbs, hands roaming freely, greedily, relief glittering from all sides. 

Beth aims for her bedroom—can’t stand the thought of doing whatever it is that’s about to happen in the bed he shared with Aria—tries to shuffle him in the right direction, but her feet lose track of where they’re going, lost in the tantalizing taste of his tongue.

Maybe she should stop him, maybe she should put a hand to his firm chest, give him a push, tell him they should talk about this first, but his lips are hot to the touch, pressing something so overwhelming to her skin with so much conviction it leaves the world outside of them to crumble, slowly, surely, until there’s nothing but ashes and his incessant warmth.

“Want you,” he sighs, teeth near her ear, sending shudders down her spine, quaking the floorboards with it. And he keeps telling her, his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her neck, his groans spilling into her. He tells her again with how he tugs off her shirt, sighing softly against her skin, puffs of hot air meeting the crook of her neck. 

She pants his name the way she always does—desperate and in need of him—this time finally out loud, instead of hushed, pushed down inside herself. She scrambles to take off his hoodie, needing his body naked against hers, needing him closer. Always closer.

“Bedroom,” she murmurs against his mouth, vaguely aware they’re still standing in the hallway, pushing her body into his in another effort to shepherd him into the right path.

He chases her lips when she pulls back, tugs her in for more kisses, eyes glued to her face when she steps away, jittering around him until he follows her. It takes her a moment to realize—dizzyingly so—he’d probably follow her anywhere right now. There’s something to his look that solidifies it, something to the heat of his touch, his inability to let go of her, one hand grabbing her neck, another on her hips as they move through the apartment in a haze.

He licks into her mouth again once they’ve made it to her room, the door still gaping wide, a hand still in her neck, pressing his lips so firmly to hers a moan slips out. The feeling of his hand on her, cradling the back of her head in his palm, sparks something inside of her. There’s something possessive to his hands on her that makes her keen. 

“Elizabeth,” he mutters against her mouth, and she’s always loved the sound of him calling her name, but nothing could have prepared her for the sound of it so breathless, so broken and full of longing, leaving his lips. 

“Rio,” she pants back, unable to stop herself from reciprocating that want. 

They kiss with hunger, with haste. 

“I want you,” she says out loud, needing him to know, needing him to get it, to understand the depth of it, needing him to see how far her want for him reaches. 

He pulls back a little, staring at her, eyes wide, bottom lip jotted out in a way that makes her wanna suckle. He looks so mesmerized, positively captivated, his eyes shining at her. 

“Elizabeth,” he repeats.

Her lips are wet, pulsing almost, and he can’t seem to stop kissing her, diving in again and again, sucking on her lips like they give him answers, or something more than that, some ultimacy of sorts.

“Do you—” she falters. Looks at him.

“Do I what, Elizabeth? Am I makin’ you nervous?”

She half-laughs, because he doesn’t, not really. It’s still him—grounding her, easing her, making her feel safe. 

But, God. She’s never done this with someone like Rio. Someone who sees her, completely, and wants to keep her. Someone who has left such a profound mark on her bursting heart already. Someone who’s just—

_Him._

Someone she wouldn’t wanna risk losing, in any capacity.

Although maybe she did, already. Maybe she lost him a little bit, every day she let him believe she didn’t want him. Maybe she lost him when she didn’t show him all the scattered buds of love and shy blooms of desire she keeps for him inside her stirring heart, her quivering body.

Maybe she should try showing him instead, disregarding ruse and fear in favor of honest lust and crowding warmth for him.

Giddy at the thought of just how she could demonstrate that, she squeezes his shoulders.

Besides, with the way his eyes send her searing with heat? It doesn’t scare her all that much, finishing her thought. She’s pretty sure his panting is enough guarantee that she won’t shoot too far off with it. She feels herself relax, his wide eyes and parted lips inspiring a confidence that he _wants_ her, really wants her, as he patiently waits for her to speak.

So she stands on her tiptoes, presses a kiss to his lips.

“Do you want to get naked?”

His eyes positively darken. A curse goes under his hot breath, puffed into her neck.

“Yeah. Fuck,” he breathes. “Yeah. Let’s—yeah.”

 _He’s_ nervous. Not a lot, and not overtly so—he’s still the same cocky asshole, doesn’t seem self-conscious in the slightest. Just—he’s shy. In his movements. Like touching her is something too holy to not be tremendously timid about.

She smiles.

Takes a step back and starts with her bra, letting the blue lace garment drop to the floor before peeling off her jeans, watching how finally gets into motion and works on his belt, eyes transfixed on her. With quick movements she rids herself of her socks and panties, flicking her eyes up to his body, just in time to watch him drop his pants and underwear in one go.

It’s hard not to linger on the thick, hard cock now exposed to her. Her throat dries as she drags her gaze up, trying to gauge if he noticed her staring, but he’s not looking at her face. He’s staring at her body, mouth gaping.

He’s silent.

“Am I making you nervous?” The words should be coy, but the whisper they stilt on quiets it.

He closes his eyes for a second, smiling. Opens them quickly, too, to take her in again, clocking every dip and curve.

“Nah. You don’t make me nervous,” he says, throat bobbing. “You’re so beautiful.”

The words don’t sound loose on his lips. Come with a sweet taste. Like maybe he’s thought them before.

She takes a step closer. 

“Rio?”

“Elizabeth.”

She smiles, sweetly, like her name on his lips.

“Do you want touch me?”

He swallows. Nods.

“How do you want to touch me, Rio?” There’s a breathiness in her voice that makes her blush, but she can’t contain it, not with how adamant her want is for him.

He slowly moves closer, closer, until he’s pressed against her. He carefully lifts a hand to her breasts, using his thumb to stroke a nipple.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes trained on his hands on her tits.

“Rio?” 

She can’t stop saying his name.

“Yeah,” he replies, not looking up.

“I think you should kiss me again. On the bed.”

He nods. Kisses her, pushing his body into hers. 

They jumble onto the bed, delighting in the new possibilities it provides them with, ready to explore each other in horizontal ease. She twists and crawls her way on top of him, tries to find a form of release in the crook of his neck, the hollow of his collarbone, licking his skin without the restraint she tried to fashion through the years.

He fusses, his head moving every which way while she lies on top of him, determined to give him a hickey ever since the idea got a hold of her all of five seconds ago, teeth on his neck, his hands rushing all over her body like she’ll leap from the bed if he doesn’t get a handful of—of— _ass_ , or titty, or a good chunk of hair.

Once she’s finished the job, gleaming happily at the sight of a lush mark on his neck, he grunts, peering up at her face.

“You happy?”

Looking down at him, strands of hair sighing in her face, leaving him a vision underneath her body, lips swollen, eyes wide, brows set to a put-on frown—it’s hard to respond with anything but the affirmative. 

Her eyes soften. 

“I am happy.”

“Kiss me,” he demands.

She moves her face closer to his, hovering over him. Assesses him. Purses her lips.

“Mmm, I don’t know.”

And with that, he growls, immediately flips them over, looming over her body in what she assumes he thinks must be predator-like fashion—but he’s looking a little bit too eager to come across as anything other than an overly excited puppy. She bites back a laugh.

“What are you gonna do, big boy?”

“Oh, you wanna play?”

She hums, registering the purr in his voice. He gives her a smile, and very cute peck on the lips.

“Let’s play, darlin’.”

And that’s all the warning she gets before he sinks his teeth to her neck, sucking at her skin with a burst of reinvigorated need and urgency.

“Rio,” she pants, suddenly understanding his earlier demand, “kiss me.”

He listens. Licks into her mouth, jolting her into motion. She lets herself have her fill of his shoulders— _finally_ —and unhurriedly kisses him back.

Rio starts kissing down her body, nose dragging over her soft belly, while she stares at the ceiling with eyes wide, trying to get a grip on her breathing, trying to process that this is actually happening.

“I can’t believe I’m touching you,” he mutters. The words are lathered onto the skin of her thighs, as he gives her an experimental bite. 

“Come here,” she orders, realizing she wants his face up close again.

“No,” he mumbles, making her eyes glide to his in an instant, ready to start pouting or tugging or yelling or begging or teasing, whichever works fastest.

“No?”

“No, I think I need to—” he trails off, pressing his hot mouth to her pussy.

“—taste you,” he finishes, sighing into her cunt. He starts tracing her folds with his tongue, humming like he’s pleased.

“Oh, God, Rio.” It’s a high keen, one she can’t suppress, spreading her legs wider for him.

“You taste so good,” he stutters between licks. He’s so greedy for her, tonguing her pussy without letting up. 

“Rio,” she begs, when she’s losing patience, wanting his body plastered against hers, wants his lips on her mouth, wants to feel him fill her up. Wants this, too, but wants him to fuck her good first. Wants to see his face, because it’s been never been open with want like this ever before, his pupils blown, his mouth gaping, his eyes roaming over her all night like he can’t believe she’s real. Wants to grab his face and kiss him until she feels like this is real, until she can fathom that they’re actually doing this.

He growls. It makes her giggle.

“Come on,” she whines, scratching a nail behind his ear. He moves up, puts his face terribly close to hers, so she can see him lashes and all.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he placates, wasting no time before diving in to give her sweet pecks on her lips, over and over, only to kiss her all over her face. The act has her giggling again. She never realized before how much of a dork he is. 

“Riooo,” she pleads, choking on a half-laugh.

“What? What is it, darlin’?”

She kisses him. Hovers near his face.

“I want you to fuck me.”

She watches his pupils blow, his tongue wet his lips. He nods, looking serious.

And he does. 

Fuck her. 

Gets her legs hiked up, gets a hand on her hip, squeezing her tight. Folds her body in half—her legs spread, her knees over his shoulders—and pushes in, fucking her so deeply she nearly cries. Gets her to _laugh_ —loudly, and fuck it if she can’t remember the last time she had this much giddiness rushing through her body during sex. 

She can’t stop looking into his eyes. Can’t believe it’s him who’s pounding her pussy so expertly, playing with her clit with attention.

It takes her a while to notice she’s babbling, “it’s you, it’s you, it’s you,” out loud.

He smiles so beautifully, can’t tear his eyes away from hers either, just nods, transfixed.

“It is me,” he confirms, slamming into her. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this? Any idea how much I’ve thought about doing this with you? Any idea how much I want you?”

With her knees over his shoulders, his thrusts hitting her so deep, the attention he always bathes her in is even more intense now as he turns his head, bites her calf, watches where she’s speared onto his cock.

“Rio,” she cries, as he presses his lips to her neck, his teeth to her jugular, his tongue tasting her skin.

“Want you all the time,” he murmurs. “Wanted you since forever.”

Her body shudders.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she confesses, still reeling from the mere fact that it _is_ happening, and her fantasies had _nothing_ on the real thing—nothing on the trembling, pulsing, molten heat of their sex.

“Me neither,” he admits, the tremor to his voice revealing the depths of the truth of the sentiment.

He noisily sucks on her nipple, leaving her panting, squirming under him. 

“Rio,” she begs again, unable to stop herself from repeating his name, over and over, because she keeps wanting him, keeps needing him, and there’s nothing else to say except that, breathless in his arms, whispering it in his ears, moaning his name into his neck.

The sex is—it’s—she doesn’t even— _okay._

He touches her with just one finger, stroking her thigh, and her skin buzzes, sizzles. He gives her a kiss and the heat takes her in fully. He glances down at her, leaning over her, and she can’t look away. He chokes out a sound—a moan, a hiss, rapid panting—and it makes her keen, move her hands—her sharp nails—all over his body. His body she can’t stop touching. 

He has her trembling and panting and sweating. She has him begging and moaning and crying out. They fuck and fuck and fuck until she can’t move her legs anymore and the sheets are soaked with her juices.

It’s well into the night before their bodies, slick with sweat and exertion, intertwined, begin to feel the call of slumber. Beth lets herself get dragged into sleep, instead of holding tight to worries beyond the newfound heaven that just burst open in her bedroom. Only buries her head in his shoulder, the heat of him a place she wants to return to in any future she can imagine.

She wakes up in the uncharacteristic still of the night, stirring with fears racing through her mind. The silence is aggravating, leaves her with too much space to think and consider how this—whatever it is they just lit the spark of—could ignite into a million pieces of misery.

This night is everything she’s wanted, but—the risk, the risk, the risk.

Did she really just gamble what they could be for lust? Deep-boned, honesty-worn, plush pleasure, sure, but just—does their past not demand more than that? Does it not inspire the will to communicate beforehand, knowhow be damned?

She blinks up at the ceiling like it’ll give her some vow or guarantee. Realizes that’s not where she should look for answers.

“Rio? Are you awake?”

A large hand squeezes hers. “Yes.”

They savor the stillness and ease before the storm. The storm after the hot summer of their fucking. The one whose weary head bobs up now that her fears take hold.

She tilts her body towards his. If this is an end, she wants to see the flames, not just the smoke.

“What if I ruin this? I don't want to be without you,” she whispers, match lit.

His fingers trail over her skin, languorously so.

“You won’t. I don’t wanna be without you either.”

He brings the water. Quenches her gripping fears. 

“‘Sides, it’s the two of us doing this. We gonna work on this together,” he adds, giving her something she didn’t know how to ask for.

Water has never felt this pulsing, alive, sizzling with a heat that tastes like love.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he reassures.

The quiet returns like rain lapping at rooftops, the thunder sent home. Just the wet rhythm, not the shudders of light and fear. She sinks into it, lets it cool her concerns.

“Rio?”

“Yeah?”

_Do you love me the way I love you?_

“Do you—what do you want?”

He squeezes her.

“You.”

It’s the conviction that gets to her. The emphasis that brings tears to her eyes. 

Oh, she loves him. She loves him so much she might never stop trembling, a little leaf clinging to its home despite the inevitability of change.

She grabs his hand. Squeezes him back. Keeps holding his hand, afraid the wind will come and remind her about the pull of gravity.

“That what’s keeping you up? You worried ‘bout this?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s just. What happens now?”

He moves a hand to her face. Traces the side of it. Strokes her hair out of her face with his pinky with slow, gentle movements.

“Whatever we want, darlin’.”

And it doesn’t sound so threatening now. Doesn’t seem all that intimidating with him all soothing next to her. Leaves a giddy taste in her mouth. Whatever they want— _they_ want. He wants it, too—this, them. 

Her pulse hammers.

“Whatever we want?”

He hums in agreement.

“So, like. Sex?”

_Please, can they do that again?_

He laughs. A low sound. It goes straight to her belly.

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely sex. But—I was thinkin’ we could do more, too.”

“More?”

“Mm-mm. Wanna take you out on a date. Properly. No Lucky’s, yeah?”

“You love Lucky’s!”

“Yeah, I do. But I wanna do something special with you. Wanna take you dancin’.”

Suddenly she’s swarmed with the memory of Rio trying to predict her favorite first date. 

_He should take you dancing, feel you up a little, get you the good bourbon. Somethin’ like that._

“And feel me up?”

He slides his hands over her hips.

“Oh, definitely,” he purrs, pulling her on top of him.

“You wanna dance with me?”

“I want to do everything with you, Elizabeth.”

_Oh._

Her mouth opens on its own accord. He sounds so—so _convinced_ of his desire. So sure of his want for her. Less spur-of-the-moment, more thought-through. 

She looks at him, looking at her with steady wonder. 

Slowly, she moves a hand to his face. Traces a finger over the side, following his cheekbone, his jaw. Leans down to plant a kiss on his lips. Kisses him deeply, heady need taking over. Feels his hands roam over her hips, squeeze her thighs. It makes her grin against his mouth.

She sits up again to take in the view, overwhelmingly pleased to have him underneath her. Likes towering over him while he’s naked. Slowly grinds her hips into him.

He makes a noise that makes her cheeks heat up. One night in and she’s already hooked to how brazen he is in his lust. 

“Put me inside of you,” he instructs, looking at her with eyes half-lidded and aflame. 

She shivers. Does as instructed. Moans with him as she sinks down on him. Starts a slow rhythm. Can’t look away from his face. Bathes in his heat. Purrs when she feels his fingers on her clit.

“Yeah, just like that,” he rumbles.

“Yeah,” she sighs, so pleased, loving the feeling of him inside of her. She rides him with languid, luxurious movements, the night gaping for them like it’s held its breath until now. Relishes in the needy sounds he makes, the intensity of his eyes on her, taking her in like she looks like hope or promise.

It’s bordering on too much, too good, too real, her body raw like parts of her heart, now swollen, so unlike its meager state of being the weeks they lost themselves in the cold.

It doesn’t take long before her pants turn into a drawn-out voicing of his name as she’s lathered in her orgasm. He kisses her to swallow the sound, his hips stuttering as he spills inside of her. He breathes in her whines, grunting while he cums. 

She tries to remind herself that they have time—she doesn’t have to gulp him in like she won’t get to touch him after tonight.

Still. He makes her want to savor every last sound and sway.

The press of his lips against hers makes her body go lax, finally. His genuine touch an alluringly fragrant place to start from, come to, swim in. 

He leaves her solid with assurance the tide will bring more chances to the shore. She lets herself rest in it, for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we’re nearing the end????? wild.  
> thank you all so, so, so much for the incredibly sweet and encouraging support for this fic, i cant even begin to describe how much it means to me. just know im so honored and overwhelmed, idek what to say anymore


	15. (xv). TELL ME I COULD BE YOURS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a home is made.

_please tell me that this could be easy / i’m tired of waiting for permission to love / heartbreak is your game, but i’m learning / my heart could be yours / won’t you make it your home?_ (BANKS – Under The Table)

The daylight is broad as they wake, spring gently peeling away the night with calculated speed. It leaves their bodies in a lavishly tender glow, the sight of Rio’s bare calf peeking out from underneath her sheets making Beth feel a secret sense of satisfaction. 

He’s in her bed. He’s in her bed because he spent the night kissing her until she lost her breath, touching her until she shattered with lust, looking at her like she was the moon and he was tide and he wanted to dance with her forever.

Not just that—not just the looking, the touching, the kissing—but his words brought desert sand to the flames of fear inside of her. He wants her. He wants her. He wants her.

There’s no wrapping her head around that—not his voice full of certainty, not his belief in their ability to become more than they were, not the knowledge she gets to _touch_ him now.

“‘Lizabeth?” Rio mumbles sleepily, head stirring with barely-there wakefulness. 

“I’m here,” she voices, grabbing his forearm on reflex, eyes flying to his face.

He smiles, eyes closed.

“That’s good,” he gives her, slowly opening his eyes to look at her. “Good morning, darlin’.”

The light flutters around her room, leaving his face in bright, kind view. And look sweet he does, soothing tilt to his brows, happy lilt to his voice.

“Good morning,” she replies, shuffling closer to him on instinct to take in the whole of his face—the dark lashes, the vibrant eyes, the set of his nose.

“Come here,” he instructs, hoarse, not yet satisfied with their proximity.

So she moves in even closer, until her lips are but an inch from his as the morning light licks at them, leaving his eyes a honeyed brown.

Slowly, so slowly, he presses his lips to hers. The moment their lips touch, she feels a blush crawl onto her face—she wanted this too long, his kiss is too gentle, none of this can be real.

There’s no way she gets to have this. No way she gets to wake up and kiss Rio— _Rio_. The man who’s filled the crevices of her heart for years. The man she pleaded and traded that very heart for, just to have him in any sense of the word.

He pulls back, glows at her with the corners of his mouth curled up. She lets her eyes track over his skin, clocking the hickeys on his throat, igniting something possessively pleased inside of her. He moves the hair out of her face with the careful touch of a finger, something eternal to his focus.

“Elizabeth.”

She feels her breath hitch at his tone, the quiet admiration.

“I can’t believe last night was real,” he admits. Her lips curl up in response.

“Me neither,” she whispers back.

They share in the quiet, mesmerized reliving of last night, both dazed trying to fathom its reality. Their eyes meet—heat and joy in equal measure crystallizing in their shared look. 

She is the first to break, a small, nervous chuckle overtaking her.

Soon his chest shakes with laughter, and before she knows it, they’re both in stitches, giddy with all the nerves and excitement seeking an outlet.

They shuffle around on the bed until she’s got her back pressed to his chest and a very warm Rio curled around her, pressing a kiss to her neck before stroking her arm with soft touches.

“Looks good.” His breath is hot as he murmurs into her ear.

“Mmm?” 

“The lilac. Looks good.”

Her eyes shoot up to the closet, no longer the gnarly yellow color it once was.

“So you admit, I was right,” she asks after a minute.

“He did a good job. Thanh.”

They both stiffen. She’s unsure why he’d bring Thanh up. Why invite him into their bed?

_Their bed._

God.

“He did,” she says quietly. Clasps his forearm. Squeezes.

She feels him unclench, press another kiss to her neck.

“Want French toast?”

Beth barks out a laugh.

“Oh, and you’re gonna make it?”

His pleased hum tickles the skin by her shoulder.

“Nah, ‘course not. But I can get the ingredients for you.”

“Oh, how kind of you,” she replies, amused. 

She leaves the bed before she loses her nerve, starts looking for her robe as the tension dissolves. Wraps her naked body in the thin material, tying its bow.

“What, now that we’ve had sex you’re gonna cover up? My t-shirt’s too good for you now?”

She turns around to meet his eyes, feeling an immediate blush dawning at his words.

“No, um. Well.” 

How can she explain this?

“It doesn’t smell like you anymore,” she mutters, eyes downcast.

A sound leaves his chest. She looks up, meets his eyes.

So much in them, too much, just like there was too much in her words. Admission beyond its intended message.

“Elizabeth, I—” 

He closes his eyes. Reopens them. Tries again.

“Come here.”

She crawls back into bed with him, her body immediately enveloped by his massive hands.

“Kiss me.”

She listens.

It takes a while before either of them remembers French toast.

Once they’ve finally left her bed and he’s ceased his objections to her attire in favor of tracking down his sweatpants, Beth finds herself in the kitchen, scouring the fridge for the ingredients she needs herself.

Two arms wrap around her from behind, Rio’s body pressing into hers.

He noses in her neck as she turns on the stove.

“Are you gonna keep hovering?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately.

“Why?” she asks with a laugh, moving around to grab a frying pan.

“‘Cuz, darlin’. You and me, we gotta make up for lost time. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop touchin’ you now that I know I can.”

Something sits warm and pleased inside of her, the presence of hot satisfaction inside his words and her body tackling her with a grounding assurance. 

“Okay,” she responds, blush quickly shoving onto her face. He laughs softly, kissing her cheek, right where she can feel the fiery red make its most prominent appearance.

“Turn off the stove,” he commands, voice a low kind of hoarse. The heat shatters down her body as she takes a breath that was supposed to steady her—instead leaves her feeling crushingly and woozily molten.

“Okay,” she repeats breathlessly, hands moving on their own accord without much thought or notice while Rio starts kissing down her neck.

He purrs her name, leaving her no choice but to swivel around and face him, quickly grabbing his shoulders to pull him in. The kiss he gives her right away has her moaning. He wraps her in his arms, and God, she just feels so _good_ and persistently safe in his embrace, it’s bordering on too much. 

Licking into his mouth, she’s starkly aware of how her desire for him is not showing signs of wavering soon—instead it sends her certain of the suddenly loud need to have him inside of her. 

“Rio,” she pants, and he must hear what she’s trying to convey but losing all vocabulary for, because he lifts her up and sits her down on one of the counters, looking at her with eyes hungry and lips parted.

“Please, just—” 

“Yeah,” he assures, what of she’s not sure. Either way, it has him leaning in and slowly untying her robe, leaving her naked and him lowering his head to suck a nipple into his mouth.

The sound that leaves her mouth at that is nothing if not shameless. Letting her head fall back, she parts her legs for him, and he uses the space immediately, pressing his warm body against hers.

“Fuck me,” she instructs, the need heady.

He loosens his grip on her thighs to lower his sweatpants, leaving his dick to jump up. Before Beth registers what’s happening, he’s sinking into her pussy with slow, steady movements, kissing her chest before swirling his tongue around her nipple.

She can’t stop pawing at him, wants all of him closer, clenching around him as he fucks her. He eyes her with so much heat, her legs wrap around him on their own accord.

He snaps his hips in smooth strokes, kissing her throat. Pants her name while moving a hand to her clit. 

Sensible fever takes hold without mercy, a collision of their need spinning them towards surrender. 

And, really. They should’ve known French toast was simply too far-fetched. 

Hues of springtime’s evening fill the apartment, a surprising amount of light casting the floorboards, the walls, the eclectic combination of Craigslist finds, fondly assembled Ikea furniture, and treasured gifts from relatives and friends in a kind yellow. Even the shadows looks upbeat, making this Beth’s favorite time of day this season.

Sitting on the couch, she watches as Rio comes home, making his way through their front door with quiet movements.

Their eyes meet. There’s a gentle smile to his face and she—she can’t stop feeling everything, everything she’s been feeling for weeks, months, years, but above all, the thrilling, freeing sensation of relief. Relief she gets to show him, now.

“Hey now,” he greets her, eyes going half-lidded with that delicate balance of lust and tenderness.

“Come here.”

He does, the way he has every day since they tumbled into bed together: walking up to her with that smooth swagger, eyes burning hot before kissing her with an open mouth, sighing into her like it’s all he could think about as he made his way home.

She loves that he keeps doing it, too—kissing her like she’s all he wants. Today’s no different. His tongue slips into her mouth before she knows it.

Sucking on his tongue, she greedily takes in his soft whine.

“Welcome home,” she purrs, biting her lip and looking up at him through her lashes. “Wanna fuck me?”

He sucks his bottom lip, eyes glazing over.

“You know I do.”

And with that, he grabs her hips, pushes her down on the couch, hovering over her before working a hand down her pants.

“Gonna fuck you right here,” he murmurs against her lips, swiping at her wet folds. “Gonna make you cum over and over ‘till you can’t no more.”

Never one to break a promise, he makes good on that, tearing her apart with devotion as the dusk floats by, bleeding into the night.

Just when she’s convinced he’s wrung her out completely, he pushes her over the edge once more, watching where she’s split open around him, their bodies drenched in sweat.

“That’s right,” he breathes, voice rough from exertion, thick with satisfaction.

A combusting of heady delight takes her body trembling, sticking to her like grimy honey, and not for the first time, she comes with his name on her lips, eyes squeezed shut in the too-much of it all.

And it _is_ too much. 

All of it. The unfolding—fully, and with intent—of their love. Beth barely knows what to do with it. Surely, the truth can’t be this alluring, all-consuming, humbly gorgeous thing?

She worries, sometimes. Laying in bed at night—with Rio, his warm body intertwined with hers, the soft sighs of his breath kissing her skin as he falls asleep—she still fears what happens if she shows him all. Feels like she should hold back. Like if she shows him all of it, it’ll be too much. Like she shouldn’t overwhelm him with the heavy love that sits inside of her, as it has for years.

But he keeps stubbornly loving on her with equal abandon. Always so giddy in his desire for her. His heart daring, body following along. Something thickly veiled now slowly making way for its naked truth.

And show it does. His lust blatant, his love brazen. 

It’s infectious. 

They kiss and tease and rush and scramble and play with each other, clothes strewn around the apartment in cliché fashion more days than not. He keeps— _taking_ her. Everywhere. Pushing her face-front to the wall when she comes home from work, dropping his pants, and working his way inside of her with committed movements and dire lust.

Or he’ll wrap himself around her whenever she’s draped across the bed. He’ll just rumble his chest and hook his chin over her shoulder and ask her what she’s doing.

Usually, by the time he does that, she’s lost track of her doings and just lets him rub his beard over her neck, kiss her jaw so sweetly, while she rubs his shoulder. Lets him get his fill of her—usually what he’s looking for is just her nearness, her touch. 

Sometimes it leads to sex. Other times they cuddle and nap together. 

Either way, it leaves her reeling, their newfound love warm like the sun heating the surface of water, frantic like the tugging of wind mid-storm. 

Just like when Stan comes over to watch the game, and Rio tugs her onto his lap, lips hovering near her neck the whole time—so familiar, yet so new, it’s dizzying. Playing with her hair while he watches the screen, leaving her to sink into his body with a contentment that overwhelms. Laughing together when Stan complains they’ve been bamboozling him, before grilling him about his dates with Ruby.

Or when they squeeze into their shower together like it’s suitable for two, enthralled by lust and need. He’ll turn on the shower before moving around, angling her body under the spray of warming water, looming at her from the other end of the shower.

The first time they did that, they both couldn’t help let another truth slip.

_“You’re so beautiful.”_

_The words leave her mouth on instinct. There’s little she could’ve done to prevent them from leaving her lips, the honesty wearing at her. She’s thought it so many times._

_His naked body is a sight like no other. She wants to crawl into him and cling to him and never leave._

_Rio inches closer. Peers down at her with dark eyes glued to her lips._

_She kisses him while the water laps at her shoulders, wets her hair, reddens her chest with its heat. He tongues inside her mouth with slow, dedicated precision._

_He pumps his fingers inside of her before long, getting her ready for him. Looks at her with so much in his eyes—so much, and it’s overwhelming, stuns her to silence except for the pants that escape her._

_When he finally presses inside of her, they both sigh._

_“Thought about doing this every time I was in here,” his hoarse voice breaks the silence._

_Beth stutters on a pant._

_“Every time?”_

_“Pretty much, yeah.”_

_Her body shudders, and she kisses him over and over until they both lose their breath._

After, he knelt by her bed and rubbed her peach-scented body butter all over her skin, gazing at her with so much tacit affection she felt breathless all over again.

Still, it takes time for her to believe it’s okay to let love seep through her every interaction now, so used to denying its vast nature. 

But Rio seems to have surrendered himself completely to the reckless devotion brewing between them.

One day during breakfast, he tells her that he loves her. That he’s so happy he gets to say it out loud now. And she cries—cheeks fiery with embarrassment—but she lets him pull her close and tell her again, and again. Lets him kiss her blushing face, carry her to bed, and make love to her.

He says it often. All sorts of ways. 

At first, he does it with seriousness, like he’s practicing something holy.

It’s like it becomes truer every time he says it out loud. She can see his love play out on his face, can watch it grow in real-time. 

Soon enough, the words lick the edge of his laughter, or get pressed into the skin near her hipbone and whispered into her hair in habit before he kisses the top of her head.

The most unnerving part of it all is just how familiar it feels. Like she’s felt it before. The first time they showered together, it was there—barely visible but unmistakably heavy in the room, like the presence of fog brought from warm water, the sweat-slickness of their fucking.

But that’s not the first time she’s felt it.

Sitting with her hands wrapped around her bent knees, feet on the couch, fingers gripping her ankles, she looks at Rio’s form as he steadily works on the bookcase Stan has palmed off to them. It’s a cool grey, one that’ll fit right in with the rest of their stuff in its tone. With her head resting on her knees, she studies his back, the strain in his shoulders, while something sappy but smooth plays from her phone speakers. They’re languid tones, the lyrics alluring, bordering on romantic—it’s a song neither of them would pick, but it’s suitable nonetheless. 

He pointedly eyed the record player he still mocks her for purchasing when she turned on the music, but neither of them bothered with the expected exchange of words. Their attunement brings something solid to Beth—an assurance she can let go of her worries that they have to start from scratch to build what they’re trying to build.

It’s in her tracking of his shoulders, his long legs, the leanness of his body, that she realizes how well she knows him. The lines of his body so familiar, the ease to his movements a well-known backdrop to her day. It’s a comfort, the sight of him in his element, muttering to himself as he assembles the bookcase, one she bathes in contently. 

She doesn’t know how many of those calming, seductive songs have passed when it finally dawns on her. All she’ll remember later is the talk of fever and eternity and sex in the songs, intertwined with the weight of her newfound knowledge—a knowledge that sets into her body, pinning her to the leather of the couch. 

Just how much he loves her. Just how much he _has_ loved her. It’s as true on a day like this, one that started with some very invigorating morning sex, as any of the days they shared the months, years before. 

So she sits there as the sun calls it a day, leaving them to themselves for the night, apartment falling to a relaxing grey in the process. The certainty is so strong once it’s time to pull on the chord of the light by the couch, once it’s dark enough for her to be able to get away with lighting her candles all over the living room, creating gentle pockets of orange in different crevices. She’s stuck in place, now that she can only breathe in her longing, breathe out her warmth for him. Each breath is intoxicating, her eyes feasting.

Suddenly it’s so obvious, the way they have always been together, the rhythm to their conversations, the thrum to the entwinement of their lives, the pulsations of their proximity to each other. How did she not see him? 

Her mind is dizzy with her rapid reassessment of their interactions, a sweetness sticky in her mouth when she knows—she tastes love. It’s that love that warms her body now, dripping through her veins like the soft sighs of his breath when he’s close to falling asleep next to her. It’s not an overwhelming pace, but it’s heady, still, as she lets it glide, her new outlook, licking her lips for it.

“Rio.”

Her voice is hoarse and full with the years of knowing him. She doesn’t know how to tell him, but he’s always been so patient with her, so in tune with her body and the things she’s left unsaid. She banks on that knowledge now that he’s turned around, facing her with all his layered attention, his eyes warm the way she now sees they’ve always been for her.

He comes over to her, wordlessly, hammer in his left hand, his arms relaxed, his pace so languid it forces her to swallow. The gentle but urgent music makes her bite her cheeks, unsure of her words or how to make her way through the wilderness of the thoughts that have been surely but steadily growing in her mind without getting scratches. 

But then his eyes catch hers with a heat that makes her crawl through anyway, knowing he’ll be on the other side. 

“Rio,” she repeats, and he hears what she wants him to hear in the call, like he knows what depth she pulled it out of, like he’s been feeling her gaze on him all night. Something bursts open, falls, tangles with her doubts but comes out fighting anyway, so she sits up as he moves to her, bowing down to her height, his shoulders almost at hers.

“I love you.” 

She lets them sit, the words, taking in the dark hairs of his beard, the birthmark on his cheek. He nods in silence, moving his hands to each side of her body, pressing against the back of the couch. His body is bent, but he makes it look natural, as his face hovers in front of hers.

Giving in, she lets him see her.

The sky’s a darker blue, licking rooftops around, leaving them in the intimate light of the one lamp he turned on, their apartment nothing but wallpaper to the mass of questions neither of them dared to ask all those years, now finally unfolding into three simple words.

Their silence is easier than she feared, accompanied by the waves of determined seduction and heartache coming from the speakers. Until he speaks.

“You have me, Elizabeth.” 

Her eyes are locked on his when hope and the quick fluttering of her pulse take her in, letting her hear what he’s saying. 

She breathes out—he gulps in her breath with his mouth open.

“Will you keep me?”

In the silence she watches his throat bob, watches his eyes beg her to say yes.

“Yes,” she says, in case she needs to. 

Because she does. She wants to keep him. She wants to keep him even when she feels like running. When she lashes out, insecure and defensive. She wants to keep him when he pisses her off. When he gets on her nerve. Wants to let herself be loved. By him. Wants him to keep her, too.

The press of his lips to hers tells her. He will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, idk what happened y’all. this fic started out so self-indulgently, just a simple string of domestic fluff and glorified romcom interactions. it's only when i started asking myself some painful questions that i could give this fic some girth, you know? and then it _completely_ got away from me.  
> i hope u enjoyed me processing things by projecting them onto fictional characters! thank you so, so much for the support for this fic, im honestly blown away. i cant even believe it’s real. idk how to describe how much it means to me but trust me -- it means a lot. tysm!!!! and thank you to the wonderful medievalraven, again, for letting me yell at you about this chapter!  
> im gonna go and hibernate and maybe drop the occasional pwp. and then hopefully reemerge w my next multichapter fic. in the meantime, you can find me on tumblr @ inyoursheets  
> anyways, how are we doing???


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